Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too
by Wicked Thespian
Summary: A Huddy fic. Okay guys. Chapter 6 is not a T chapter. It is M, for sure, and very mature. If you are not old enough, or don't like it, don't read it. Chapter 20 is up! THE END.
1. Chapter 1: Some of These Days

**Alrighty, guys. This is my first attempt at a House MD fanfic. Let me know what you think. Will totally be Huddy. Why? 'Cause I can! Duh. Really, though, read and review, because I'm really unsure about this one. You know the regular jazz. I don't own House MD, or the characters. Enjoy! This will have a couple of more... mature chapters to it.  
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** Did I mention 'read and review'? Please do!  
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**Some of These Days**

The day had started beautifully. The sun was bright and comfortable, filling the bedroom with the brilliance of a rare, warm winter morning. The light from the window spilled over the bed, crossing in alternating lines of shadow from the partly drawn shades, having little effect on the woman sleeping amidst rumpled sheets and disheveled pillows. The soft heat from the unexpectedly clear morning elicited a slight flutter of her eyelids and a shift in position, not drawing her from her dreams.

Doctor Lisa Cuddy subconsciously refused to be awakened. It was her first morning off in a long time, and she was devoted to enjoying it. She could not remember the last time she had been able to sleep in, her duties as Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital prioritizing too many hours of each day to allow for the luxury of a lazy morning. Her conscience was clear, calling in a sick day without having any illness, simple because she and everyone she worked with knew she had earned the right to play hooey. Only one thing would entice her to leave the nest of plush she had created in her bed.

That one thing kissed her on the forehead.

She had been dating Kevin Young for a month, exactly the day before, and was beginning to feel attached to him. He was handsome, intelligent, loyal and painfully adorable. Their dates were consistently romantic and fun, yet she often found herself smiling at how awkward he was. He wanted to please her, to take care of her, and dreaded the idea of doing something to drive her away. They had celebrated their one month anniversary at an amazing restaurant, and then saw a play. It had all been perfect, and Cuddy felt it right to invite him back to her place.

She opened her eyes, Kevin's face a breath away. She smiled at him and he kissed her lips softly. He was hovering over her, sitting on the edge of the bed with one arm on the opposite side of Cuddy to maintain his balance. He brushed the hair from her face with his free hand, a crooked smile on his strong, finely featured face. She reached up and ran her thumb along the dimple his grin created, then, unable to resist, arched her back just enough to pull herself up to kiss that line.

"Sorry," she said, rolling free of him and wrapping herself modestly in one of the bed sheets. He let her go, standing. The two stared at each other for a moment, blushing with more than the after glow of their encounter. He was standing without his shirt on, having just come from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. She liked the look of his body, muscular without being imposing. Before coming to PPTH to work as a janitor he had been a decorated police officer. The scar responsible for his change of occupation glistened against the rest of his skin, the drying water reflecting differently over the smooth, silky dead tissue. Kevin noted her staring and moved his hand, reflexive action, to cover the scar.

"I'm sorry," Lisa said again, this time more earnestly. She searched for something to say, unaware that she was already speaking, "A co-worker of mine was shot."

Kevin grinned, moving to join her on the bed, "You mean an employee of yours. You are the boss."

"Hardly," Cuddy laughed ruefully, "I could no more be his boss than he a nice guy."

"Ah." Kevin flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, "House again."

"The bane of my existence."

"So it seems. But you know what I think?" He turned to look at her directly, emphasizing importance by reaching for her hand. She moved to accept the gesture, more than willing to give him her undivided attention.

"What do you think?" Even as she spoke the words she was distracted from their meaning. Her cell phone began to ring, a tone she dedicated to one number. She looked at Kevin, hoping he hadn't figured out just who it was. He smiled warmly.

"That's work, isn't it? It might be important. Go on."

Cuddy smiled, relieved and thankful, kissed him on the cheek, and then grabbed the phone from the table near her bed side.

"I'm off today," she said gruffly, turning away from Kevin to speak privately to, as Kevin secretly knew, Gregory House. She let out a sigh in response to something he had said, "No… the answer is no… No! None of the above. When did this case come in? I haven't seen it yet. Do not cut anything out of anyone before I get there. I mean it."

She hung up abruptly, turning to find Kevin pulling on his clothes. Her heart sank, knowing full well why he was getting ready to go. She didn't stop him, simply watching him with sad, apologetic eyes.

"I think," Kevin continued, his tone unaltered from before the interruption, "you love it."

Cuddy was not oblivious to the strange way he pronounced that last word. Her phone rang.

Kevin laughed, kissed her forehead once more, and left the room. The phone continued to ring as she listened to the front door open and, after a moment of hesitation, slam closed. The cell phone quieted and for a moment Cuddy was in peace with her sad thoughts, until the clamour was taken up by home phone. She moved and grabbed the receiver of the ground line, not saying a word because she already knew who it was.

"You hung up on me," Gregory House's gruff voice said indignantly, as clear as if he were standing two feet away. There were few places in the hospital that maintained that kind of reception. She doubted he had memorized her home number, and the short time between dials led her to believe he was in a place where he could have easily looked it up. These two conditions together amounted to just one place.

"Get out of my office."

"Someone has to keep this place warm for your return."

"I'm off today."

"You led me to believe you were coming in."

"No, no, no," Cuddy said quickly, pulling a nearby drawer open and taking from it a pair of clean underwear and a bra. She wondered vaguely for a moment how he would react knowing he was speaking to her while she was naked. It made her feel uncomfortable, dirty, and she quickly pulled on the undergarments, balancing the phone with difficulty, "I told you not to do anything until I got there. I never mentioned how long that might take."

"What are you doing?" He could hear the movement of the phone.

"Fixing my bra."

"The twins get out again?"

"Use your imagination."

For a long moment the line was silent, giving Cuddy the time she needed to catch the final clasp. When her attention returned to House she was just in time to hear him groan. She rolled her eyes.

"That's enough."

"Almost," he grunted.

"Funny, Kevin made that exact same sound last night, when I-"

"Doctor Cuddy, that is hardly appropriate behavior for a woman of your position, particularly in front of a co-worker." He sounded as he ever did, sarcastic masked by faux sincerity, yet she was keenly aware that he was rattled. He went on, seemingly undaunted, "my patient needs surgery."

"Your patient is a five year old boy that swallowed some stones from the backyard. He needs observation or an endoscope. You have no grounds for a laparotomy."

"The stones are too big to pass. He'll get obstructed."

"Observe. Endoscope. This seems like a really simple case, and you're just picking a fight for the sake of it. Why?"

"Because I'm lonely and I miss you," he replied with almost practiced speed, his tone bitterly sweet. She could not imagine his face, unaware of the way his piercing blue eyes clouded. Sighing, she shivered and drew her blanket around her. The irony of sitting in bed, half naked, on the phone with a man who had just finished pretending to pleasure himself to the sound of her voice was not lost to her, particularly considering he was unaware of her state of undress.

"I know it must be hard for you, but you're going to have to stop pining for me. This unhealthy obsession you have for me is beginning to effect your judgment at work. Which was pretty bad to begin with – what are you doing?"

His phone clicked and became thick with interference. There was rustling and a drowning hum that Cuddy could not recognize.

"You kicked me out of your office."

"And you listened?"

"I thought it might make you more inclined to agree with me."

"Don't hold your breath."

House sighed into the phone, and Lisa sighed with him. They were quiet for a moment, then House spoke with a strange fire to his voice.

"Well, if you're not going to play nice than I don't really want to talk to you at all. You're a terrible boss, Cuddy. Never let me have any fun, just because you don't like me."

And then he hung up.

For a moment Cuddy couldn't quite figure out what had just happened. She knew he was playing with her, trying to get a rise out of her, and by all accounts he had exceeded. It was one thing to imply insults through sarcasm, yet quite another to spit them out in plain language. She slammed the receiver down and then went to find her cell phone, lost in the sheets where she had all but discarded it. Flipping it open, she hit the first number on speed dial and, her face burning with anger, waited for him to pick up.

In the middle of her wrathful redial her doorbell went. With exaggerated exasperation for her own release, Cuddy let out an irritated grumble. She searched for her bathrobe, but the closest thing she found was Kevin's long black trench coat. He must have forgotten it in his hurry to leave. Or maybe, Cuddy hoped silently, he had left it for her as an excuse for him to return. Phone balanced awkwardly between her shoulder and ear, ringing without purpose, she wrapped the large coat around her nearly bare frame, hurrying to the door with a slight smile on her face as his scent met each intake of breath. She opened the door and peered outside, half hidden behind the wooden shield.

In her ear the click of the phone drew her attention for a moment, her priorities on the call rather than on whoever was at the door. If it was Kevin, as she had imagined, he probably wasn't too happy with this choice.

"Stop calling me, Cuddy, I can't forget about you if you don't leave me," House's voice rang clearly in her head, and for a moment she was surprised. She looked in shock to find him standing on her doorstep, grinning at her broadly, his phone to his ear as he leaned casually on his cane. She took her phone from her shoulder, clapping it shut as she stared at him, dumbstruck. He tilted his head at her in surprise, taking in the way she kept herself hidden, the way she adjusted herself so that he could just see her head and the hands that gripped the door like it was the only thing keeping her feet on the ground.

"Are you naked?" He asked, moving to get a better view, quickly adding, "can I come in?"

She bristled, opened her mouth to say something, found no words, and finally gave up, stepping back to let him come inside. He limped in with an eager pride to his belabored step, watching her keenly as she shut the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2: More Than a Feeling

**Alrighty, chapter two! Don't get too used to me updating so frequently -shifty eyes-**

**Let me know what you think! This one is a lot more about House, which is more than I've ever done with him, so I'm not sure I got it quite right. Heh. **

** Chapter rating: T  
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**More Than a Feeling  
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Her home smelled like sex.

There was blatant evidence of sexual activity in every corner of the room Gregory House was idling in, waiting for his boss to return in more conversation friendly attire. He was sitting on her couch, as forward as he could get while his body was still in contact with it. If there was one thing he didn't want to do it was find himself sitting in an uncomfortably damp part of the furniture. Glancing around, his keen eyes observed that the festivities had, indeed, started in this room. Grimacing at the mental image as he followed their progress to the bedroom, he decided he would be much more comfortable standing.

He rose, grunting with the effort, and turned in a stretch to see Cuddy returning to him. She was dressed, a slightly depressing observation, in an old looking pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, her expression one of listless impatience. Moving expectantly, her body language almost shouting how little patience she had for him, she came to a stop in front of him. Eyebrows raised, hand proffered, she cleared her throat to cue him.

He gave her an awkwardly angled high five.

"The folder, House," Cuddy sighed, as if she had been waiting to say it. He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if he was becoming a bit too predictable. Annoying her and getting just what he wanted whenever he wanted it would be much more complicated if she could preempt his schemes. Taking a mental note to be more clever in the future, he picked up the case file he had brought with him from the hospital and handed it to Cuddy.

He watched her open it as she moved to sit down in an arm chair across from the sofa, her attention drawn to the papers inside. Sighing with exaggerated expression, he balanced himself on the edge of the sofa's arm, not quite sitting as he maintained his weight on his cane, leaning forward to get a good look at the woman across from him.

Though she was now dressed she still carried the aura of someone fresh from sleep. A good, peaceful sleep after a gratifyingly tiring night, he wagered. The thought stirred something in the pit of his stomach, something he wouldn't quite define as jealousy. As far as he was concerned, Cuddy could sleep with any louse she wanted. It just bothered him that he had been so close to seeing more of her amazing body than he was usually privy too, but had wasted the opportunity. Now all he could do was reminisce about the good time she must have had, while he had been busy drinking heavily and poking keys on his piano uselessly.

There were two wine glasses on the table in front of him, and a bottle of red wine. The bottle had barely been touched, the glasses still full. Apparently neither of them had needed any help. Unless, of course, they had gone out beforehand and were both already drunk by the time they hit the living room floor. He could see articles of her clothes, his eyes lingering over them and their reckless arrangement about the room, but her boyfriend's were no where to be seen. Either he was a very neat, albeit selfishly so for not picking up after her as well, person, or he had put them back on. The former meant he was a jerk, while the latter meant something entirely more tickling.

"So, where's the boy-toy?"

"This patient is fine."

"Lisa."

Cuddy looked up from the case file, staring over the bridge of her nose at him, her eyebrows low in concentration. It never failed to throw her when he addressed her by her first name, invariably making her wonder what was so important about his thoughts that warranted the action. When she was in school her teachers took to calling her Cuddy, and would only use her first name when awarding her with something, or telling her off. She didn't think House was trying to do either.

"Greg?"

"Your boyfriend. He doesn't leave clothes here, for those sleepovers you're so fond of. So last night... that was the first time…"

"House," Cuddy stressed his last name potently, telling him with just one word that she was not going to put up with his line of conversation, "that's none of your business. You came over here to, besides the obvious to desire to annoy the living hell out of me, force this procedure down my throat. You're not going to get it, though, so maybe it would be a good idea for you to just get back on your bike and go back to work."

"I can't go back to work. I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to save lives. If you don't let me cut that kid open, it'll make me the opposite of a doctor. I'm pretty sure you don't want me to go back the hospital with only 'let five year old die' on my to-do list."

Cuddy looked at him with her mouth slightly open, shaking her head as a look of pure bemusement on her face. She arched an eyebrow slightly, coughing a disbelieving laugh and closing the folder with a definitive clap.

"There is no indication that the rocks, _pebbles_, are anywhere near big enough to cause an obstruction. You know my decision. If you're wasting time here in hopes that the condition will worsen while you're away it won't work. Not only is that completely unethical, even by your standards, it's a really bad trick to try and pull off on the Dean of Medicine. Either get your ass back to the hospital and treat this kid like any normal doctor would, or I'll call one of your minions to do it for you."

House tilted his head at her, feigning an expression of injury, holding a hand to his heart so tightly it seemed he was afraid his pride might actually spill directly from the wound she had torn there with her cutting words, "do you really think so low of me as to honestly suggest such an atrocious mode of operation?"

"Yes. Do you really think me dumb enough to not see through you?"

"Actually, yes. Damn. I really _am_ becoming predictable."

Cuddy looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and he thought he saw something flash in her eyes. Blinking slowly, breaking an eye-lock neither had entered with intention, Cuddy rose and moved towards him. She thrust the folder towards him, shaking her head.

"You're anything but predictable, House. Go treat this kid, and maybe you'll get a new case that might actually warrant the effort you're trying to force on this one."

"If he doesn't leave his clothes here, and that was your first night together, why did he leave so early? I mean, it's still pretty early. That's bad form. He should have at least stayed until lunch," House said deviously, taking her wrist in his hand instead of the folder as she had thought. She tried to pull away from him, groaning in exasperation as he switched subjects back to her personal life, but he held her fast.

"What's the point? Why does any of this matter to you, House?"

"It doesn't, I was curious. Was it because I called?"

Cuddy fell silent, staring at him for a long, disquieting moment. They were uncomfortably close, his hand warm and rough against the skin of her arm. She compared the feeling to the way Kevin's hands felt in their tender embraces, uncomprehendingly dissatisfied. House watched her as she stared at his grip, wishing he had the ability to read her mind, and also noting how soft her hair looked in the dim light of the living room. The bedroom, undoubtedly, had a much different affect on it.

Neither allowed themselves to become fully aware of their thought processes, each privately denying the sparks crackling in the air around them. She took a step back and he let her go, watching after he as she crossed into another room. He was tempted to follow and, being prone to giving into his temptations wholeheartedly, did so. She was in the kitchen when he caught up to her, his limp more difficult to navigate without his can, which he had left leaning on the arm of the couch. She poured herself a glass of orange juice, looked over her shoulder at him politely, then at his nod poured him one as well.

She handed the glass to him wordlessly, and the two sipped at their drinks in silence.

"But you were wearing his trench coat," House began again, feeling that his timing was as close to perfect as he could ever hope.

Cuddy let out an aggravated cry and walked away from him, heading back into the living room. House chased after her, leaving his glass on the counter near the sink.

"If he left that here he either forgot it, which is unlikely considering he remembered to grab everything else, and if people wear trench coats they tend to leave important things in them, like car keys or wallets, _or_ that he needed an excuse to come back. But if you two were getting along, he wouldn't need an excuse, would he? You'd be more than happy to let him in, and he would have no shame in coming over. So you must have had a fight. And this is his little way of leaving room for an apology and, I bet, make-up sex."

She turned on him, staring up at him like a cat at a dog that had been swatting at her tail. House stood his ground, not accustomed to backing down at a show of claws. She had his cane in her hands, putting him at a distinct advantage.

"I think it's time for you to go, House."

"Were you fighting about me?"

"We weren't fighting. Don't you have a job to do?"

"You won't let me do it. What were you fighting about?"

"We weren't fighting!" She stormed to the door, pulling it open and indicating with her head for him to go through it. He stayed where he stood, as if not comprehending the source of her hissy fit.

"You've gotten your answer. It's not the one you wanted, but I'm not going to change it no matter how much you annoy me," she held up his cane, displaying it as a show hostess might, then tossed it out the door, "fetch."

House, disgruntled, hobbled past her, using her shoulder as he passed as a counterbalance to his limp. He stumbled, though if on purpose or by accident Cuddy could not be sure, and fell into her helplessly. Her instincts and training as a care provider shifted into gear and she supported him, putting her arm around him and shifting her footing to keep him from crushing them both against the doorway. He grinned down at her, his arm around her waist. His eyes were all she could see, and it took every ounce of will power she had in her to keep from gasping as they took her breath away.

"Look, I know you were a little mad at me for leaving," the only voice Cuddy did not want to hear at that particular moment said, moving closer to them, "but that's no reason to start throwing things at me."

Kevin Young stood at her doorstep, looking at them, his expression wounded and unsure. He was holding House's cane, almost gingerly, in one hand. Cuddy laughed, the only thing she could do, and pushed House away from her. He hopped a short distance, leaning against the other side of the doorframe. His smile was slight, but the overwhelming amount of smugness it carried was unmistakable. Cuddy held out her hands, innocent and pleading, looking at Kevin without being able to defend herself.

He smiled at her.

Turning to House, he offered the cane back. House graciously accepted, thanking him generously. Cuddy winced at the confidence with which House spoke, wishing this introduction had not happened. If the people in her personal life never met House, only knowing him by reputation, they knew him too well. He was a constant risk to her relationships, without direct exposure. This was nothing short of disastrous.

"You must be House. I've heard… a lot."

"Really? All good, I hope," He offered his hand, "And you're… uh…?"

"Kevin… Kevin Young."

"Kevin Young. I'm sorry. Cuddy doesn't talk about her private life much." Kevin seized House's hand, shaking it firmly. Cuddy watched the two men battle epically while their hands were gripped, each trying to out vice the other. Their eyes were locked, an invisible flame searing around them, a silent battle for dominance being fought on her doorstep. She sighed as the two men sized each other up, the gruff and tall House against the stout and muscular Kevin. She knew which one she would put her money on, if it came down to it.

"Boys," she said, adopting a patronizing tone. Kevin released House's hand with one final shake, House following suit a moment later. Both men turned to look at Cuddy, Kevin's face red with embarrassment and suppressed emotion while House looked almost bored.

"Coming to work? To, you know, make sure I don't disobey you and cut the kid open anyway?"

"Wait for me in my office. I'll be in soon. Don't go anywhere near that kid, or his family," she looked at Kevin, his eyes softening tenderly, "can I talk to you inside?"

Kevin nodded, following her. House was forced to leave the doorstep, demoted to the front porch as Kevin usurped his position, smiling with obvious pride as he passed House both literally and metaphorically. The door closed behind them, leaving House standing alone. He hobbled down the front driveway to his motorcycle, swinging his bad leg over it and situating himself behind the handle bars. He turned the ignition, the powerful engine purring to life.

Overhead, the clouds moved closer together, rumbling ominously.


	3. Chapter 3: The Art of Losing

**Seriously. I never update this fast.**

**You'll probably have to wait a good long time for the next one.**

**Read and review!  
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**The Art of Losing**

He stood behind her, his arms around her, his hands lost under the fabric of her sweatshirt. Kissing her neck, his eyes closed, he breathed her in, her taste and smell intoxicating him. She leaned back into him, her hands over her head, lost in his hair and along the grooves of his neck as she craned her neck to give him more room to explore.

They were in her bedroom, the events on the doorstep nearly forgotten as they worked on forgiving each other. There was nothing to forgive, each could see, jealousy egging them on to decisions they should have avoided. At least, that was just enough justification to throw away all the petty arguments they had stored since the morning, just waiting to meet again, and instead lose themselves in a moment of passion.

Cuddy loved the way Kevin's lips found just the right grooves in her neck, the places were his tongue against her skin sent a shiver through her entire body, exciting every sinew. She closed her eyes, absorbing his touch, the way his soft fingers explored the shadows of her body carefully, endearingly. She let her mind wander, unaware of where it wanted to go and lacking to foresight of stopping it. For a moment she felt a different pair of hands on her, rough and strong, taking control rather than tenderly hesitating, not letting her be the boss.

She jerked away from Kevin, shaking her head to get the image out of her mind, she skin tingling with an unwanted lingering yearning. He looked at her worriedly, taking a step towards her and putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay? Did I… uh..?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry," she turned to face him, forcing a smile, "I really am. For not telling you who was calling, and for not paying attention to you, and for him coming over here, and for throwing his cane at you."

He took her face in his hands lovingly, cupping her chin and smiling into her eyes. His eyes glistened with understanding, though, she thought for a moment she could see a shade of something else. When he spoke, however, all she could hear was more forgiveness than she felt she deserved.

"It's okay. It's your job. He's your job. And you've known him a long time. I understand. I shouldn't have gotten jealous. I just… I really like you, Lisa, and I don't want… I don't want to mess this up."

Cuddy laughed ruefully, putting her hands over his, "believe me, it almost certainly won't be you messing this up."

He explored her face for a moment, silent and thoughtful. Letting her go, he allowed his hands to drop to his side, completely disengaging from her. She checked that as a bad sign, and tilted her head at him. He chewed on his lower lip for a little while longer, then let out a sigh and decided to take the plainest path.

"Do you… do you think you're going to mess this up?"

"No, that's not what I mean. I really like you, too, Kevin, I mean it," she felt suddenly like she was back in high school, desperately trying to find the right thing to say to keep her boyfriend from leaving her. Because that happened a lot when she was in school, and she really knew how to deal with it, she said, "I'm just not confident other things won't come between us."

"You mean House."

"I don't mean-" she snapped, stopping midway to change her tone to something less threatening, "No, I don't mean House. I mean anything. You saw what happened when I chose work over our morning together. I don't know how to not chose work, Kevin. It's been all I've had for a long, long time."

Kevin sat down on her bed, watching her move into the adjoining bathroom with longing. He had upset her, he knew he was going to, but no matter how mentally prepared he thought he was it still pained him. All he wanted to do was tell her it was fine, that he knew he could trust her, that no one would come between them. But he wasn't very good a lying, and his instincts told him those words would be as false as if he said he was not jealous of the relationship she shared with House.

Even if she chose to believe it did not exist.

"I know…" he said. She eased the door until it was almost closed, affording her privacy without shutting his voice out. If she was going to be dragged into work on her day off, she thought she had better look presentable. She got dressed as the two conversed, aware that days off were far too much work to be enjoyable, and that she wouldn't want to do it again for a long time. At least now she remembered why she hadn't bothered taking one in so long. Kevin continued to speak, his voice drifting to her between her thoughts, "and I don't want to rush you, or put you under any pressure. But I really… I want to give this a real shot, you know?"

Cuddy stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if she was ready for what he was implying.

"I want us to be in a relationship, Lisa. I don't want us to date. I want us to be together. But I know it's not all about what I want, and I know you have a lot in your life that you aren't used to sharing. What do you think?"

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning over the sink. She felt like dunking her head in the ice cold water running from the tap, but having just applied her make-up she hesitated. If she stayed too long in the bathroom he would realize that she was hiding from the conversation. From him. Turning the tap off, she opened to door and, lingering in against the frame, looked at him. He stood, holding his hands in front of him like so many of her patients did when they were eagerly awaiting the results of their tests, eager for the good or the bad.

She smiled reassuringly.

"If you're willing to put up with me, knowing what you know, and you still want to give this a try… I will, too," she crossed the room to sit on the bed with him, putting her hand on his knee, "You're too kind to me…"

He didn't respond. Not verbally, at least. He took her hands in his and kissed her passionately. She let him guide her as they fell into the bed, kissing him back and forcing herself to stay focused on him. He played his hands through her hair, pulling back to look down at her, telling her how happy he was, and how much he wanted to be with her just by not blinking. She sighed, moved to kiss him again, then stopped.

"I have to go to work…" she said. He almost thought she was teasing him, considering their conversation, and he half-laughed. She looked apologetic, and he sighed, dropping his head in defeat and backing away until he was sitting as he had been before. She stood, smoothing her clothes, and then kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

"I'll walk you out," he offered, standing, "my car is here, I can give you a lift? And pick you up later… since you're not supposed to be working today. How about, say, seven? Then I could bring you back here… and you could get ready…"

"Ready? For what?" She grinned playfully, leading the way back to the foyer.

"I was thinking I'd take you some place special."

"I think we did that yesterday."

"Some place even better," he reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her and pulling her to him. She smiled at him, ignoring the wince at the completely different sensation of his hand falling over the same area her employee's had earlier that morning.

She smiled up at him coyly, leaning against him, for the time not in a rush to get away, "that sounds like a good plan."

He grinned, "the only condition is you can't bring your cell phone."

"Done," she said quickly, more than willing, "done."

He kissed her and she giggled, then broke away from him, trying escape this serenity despite knowing full well that by stepping out of her home she would be stepping into a place akin to nightmares. She pulled the door open regardless, walking with Kevin in idle chat towards his car, parked in front of her house. They came to a stop, Kevin first and Cuddy simply because he had, at the end of the path up to the door, just before the driveway.

Gregory House was sitting on his motorcycle, the engine purring, looking bored but determined. Cuddy stared at him, gripping Kevin's hand in hers as if to keep him from attacking. Kevin cleared his throat, unsure of what to do.

"Doctor House," he said carefully, "what are you still doing here?"

"I'm going to give Cuddy a ride to work."

There was very thick, very awkward, and very intense silence. The clouds overhead rumbled and shuddered. The first few specks of rain began to dot the cement.

"I'm sorry, but she doesn't need a ride."

"That's right. I'm driving myself," Cuddy said. Kevin looked at her in surprise, an expression that made House grin. Cuddy put her hand on Kevin's chest soothingly, then looked at House with such a withering gaze that he couldn't keep his smile from falling. Both men waited awkwardly for Cuddy to speak again, to tell them what to do. She was the boss, "House, get to the hospital. Kevin, I'll see you tonight."

It was like dealing with children. She had to keep them separated, lest they pick on each other and one of them ended up crying. From the looks of it, it would have probably been Kevin. Cuddy walked by House, her car parked just beyond his motorcycle. Kevin made his way solemnly to his car on the street. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder at House and Cuddy, who were staring at each other as she dug through her purse to find her keys. He closed his eyes and turned towards his car, telling himself he could trust her. Convincing himself to do so.

"Do you think you're funny, House? There was absolutely nothing to gain from hanging around here except to take another jab at Kevin. That posturing you two pulled at the door was enough."

Kevin's engine roared to life and he pulled slowly from the curb, easing into the street. His driving didn't indicate he was angry, but Cuddy knew how subtle he was about his feelings. She would need to talk to him later, before they went out. If they were still going. Pulling her keys from her bag, she turned her back to House and unlocked her car.

"Actually, I did think I would get something from this."

"What was that?"

"Giving you a ride to work."

She looked at him, scrutinizing his eyes for the trick behind his words. They betrayed nothing, except a glint she wanted to pretend not to see. She couldn't pull her eyes away, trapped in an expression she couldn't identify, her heart beating in her ears. She tried shaking her head, blinking, forcing a laugh. Nothing worked. They continued to stare at each other, each searching, and neither finding anything at all. She didn't know if he was somehow forcing her to stay with him, connected through their stare, or if she was really lying to herself by thinking she wanted to escape at all.

"You brought an extra helmet," she said, dumbfounded.

"I did."

"You came with the intention of giving me a ride."

House revved the engine, indicating with his head for her to jump on the back. He wasn't going to tell anyone. Kevin didn't have to know that she chose House, once again, over him. Cuddy agreed, and moved towards the bike, reaching for the proffered helmet, but stopped just short of taking it. She drew her hand back, finding it trembling, and shook her head.

House got off of the bike, a bit slower than he would have liked to, struggling with his bad leg, and limped over to her. His cane was strapped to his back, ready to travel on the bike, and he was not in the mood to reach back and pull it out. He limped to her, shoving the helmet towards her. She didn't take it, looking at him pleadingly. Grunting, he slipped it over her head, clipping and fitting the straps. He then took her keys, locked her car, and led her to the bike. He climbed on, and as he looked over his shoulder he was pleased to see her following suit.

She yelled something at him, but her voice was lost under the roar of the engine. The sky ripped open as he tore away from the house, Cuddy clinging to him desperately as he broke the speed limit. Rain poured down, torrential and blisteringly cold, but neither noticed. Cuddy was laughing too hard, her hands gripping his chest tightly, while he was too absorbed in keeping her that distracted to care about the weather.

He felt her move closer against his back, her helmet touching his. He heard her yell something, the meaning drowned out, the words barely distinguishable.

Three syllables.


	4. Chapter 4: Dare to be Stupid

**Alrighty guys! Chapter four. You'll see a difference at the end, because I stopped knowing how to write. I don't know. Let me know what you think! I know my opinions of this chapter... but it would be nice to know yours. **

** Thank you, everyone, for all the reviews so far! Keep them coming, I love the feedback and the comments! Nice to know people are reading.  
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**Dare to be Stupid**

They were completely soaked by the time they entered the hospital. They walked together, almost arm in arm, he holding doors open for her while she walked under his arm. She was exhilarated, almost giddy from the ride, her laughter unbridled, her excitement making him laugh. His grizzled face was brighter than usual, watching her girlish exuberance bringing a light to his piercing blue eyes that was so rare it felt like it did not belong there. They were oblivious to those around them, talking, teasing; absorbed in each other as they crossed through the hospital towards her office.

In their wake, the entire staff of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital buzzed with gossip.

Cuddy unlocked her door and turned on the lights, House a step behind her. They both stripped themselves of their thick jackets, hanging them on the rack near the door to drip dry, a puddle forming beneath it almost instantly. Shivering, Cuddy adjusted the heating in her office, leaving the window shades drawn. There was no light to be had from outside anymore, despite how utterly brilliant the morning had been. Rain clouds painted the sky grey, sheets of rain falling in diagonally across the city.

Even so, Cuddy was in as good a mood now as she had been in waking up to that sunlight.

"I still can't believe how fast you were going," she said with a sigh, easing into the chair behind her desk slowly, calming herself at last. Her cheeks were cherry red, brightened by the smile she had worn since entering the hospital as well as the change in temperature. She drew a deep breath, her heart finally returning to its normal pace. House stood on the opposite side of the large desk, leaning on his cane and watching her with a crooked half smile he didn't actually want her to see.

"I figured you would enjoy it," House said, clearly proud.

"You figured I would enjoy speeding through unsafe conditions on a motorbike steered by a guy with one good leg, driving while hopped up on vicodin?"

He was thoughtful a moment then, snuffling decidedly, nodded. Cuddy laughed at him, shaking her head and reaching for the papers her secretary had left on her desk, to be looked at immediately upon return. Granted, she probably had more time for these matters than either had thought, having ended her day off so early. She opened a file and began to read it, he eyes moving quickly over the page as she absorbed the most important sentences. She never spent too long reading any one piece of paper, her job too demanding and her patience too low for that. It was a refined art, scanning without missing anything, yet she had years of practice to all but perfect it.

House hobbled around her desk, joining her behind it. She paid him no heed, used to his lack of respect for her personal space, and was not surprised when he took a seat on the desk itself, his leg touching her arm, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk as she was.

Her gaze shifted to him for a fleeting moment, then back to her work. He was playing idly with the head of his cane, contented in that rather than making conversation with her.

They kept each other company in silence for almost an hour. Their clothes were well on the way to completely dry, the room warm and comfortable. Cuddy worked at finishing the paperwork, never one to let too much back up on her, signing and scribbling notes. She placed calls and, once word got out about her coming in, took them. House simply sat at the edge of the desk, sometimes watching her, mostly not. He yawned once or twice, and said 'bless you' when she sneezed. Beyond that he was silent. There really wasn't a need for words, yet Cuddy could feel that this was somehow an ominous event. The calm before the storm.

"I put the kid on observation," House said, bringing Cuddy from her thoughts. She looked at him, searching his face for more time than she really needed. Feeling as if she were being led by the hand into a deadly trap, she did not reply, the look in her eyes enough to prompt an explanation, "when he does get obstructed, it'll be even more fun when I cut him open. You're going to have to be the one to explain to his parents what happened, of course."

"Of course," she picked up her pen, taking a notebook from the upper corner of her desk and opening it to write something down. House put his hand on her wrist, stopping her and drawing her attention back up to his deep, complex gaze. She was surprised by how light the touch was, the way his fingers hesitated over her skin. A shudder that tickled her spine told her she was in unfamiliar territory now. Dangerous, exciting, infectious new territory.

"What do you see in him?"

"I haven't met your patient, House, but seeing as he's five I can safely say he's not-"

"In Kevin."

She moved her hand away from him, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head at his question. She laughed.

"Why? What about this one bothers you?"

House had the remarkable talent of taking any man that showed a modicum of interest in Cuddy and turning him into a sleaze, a geek, a waste of time: he found and highlighted the worthlessness in everyone. His critical eye was not solely used to further his remarkable reputation as a diagnostician, but to provide him with the most personal of observations, things they would never themselves say, of anyone he met. If he didn't like that person, which was often the case, they would soon know it. His ability to pinpoint the weakest part of anyone's confidence lent perfectly to his enjoyment of causing people pain with his words.

He grunted.

"Doesn't he seem a little too nice?"

"Too nice," Cuddy snorted, leaning further back in her chair. She put her feet up, but not on her desk. House moved his hands from his lap and accepted her legs, becoming her foot rest. There was amusement on her face, her eyebrows tented in comical scrutiny of his thought process, "is that the best you can do?"

"I mean it. He's so timid and a push-over. I didn't peg you as the kind of person who would settle for a guy like that. But then again, maybe being the boss of a hospital isn't enough for you? You want to be just as domineering in your sex life as you are running your hospital."

Cuddy stared at him, catching the hint in his voice, the subtle tone that told her he knew he was not getting it right. It was his strange brand of reverse psychology, something she still did not know how to fight despite how many years she had been forced to deal with it. He wanted her to correct him, to tell him the truth: that she did not want to be the boss. That Kevin was too nice for her taste. That someone else would be a better fit. Or he wanted to hear her deny it, catching her in a lie and piercing through her transparent rebuttal with some cutting remark that would force her to tell him how she really felt.

The topic of her personal and sexual preferences, however, was not something she wanted to delve into. Pushing the heel of her show into his thigh, she fixed him a devilish smirk.

"You have no idea."

"Oh," he said, his hands on her ankle to keep her from jabbing him anymore, "I think I do." He slid her shoe off, tracing the lines on her dainty bare foot with his fingers. She cried out in surprise, trying to pull her feet to her, but he kept his grip. All she accomplished by bringing her knees up was rolling her chair closer to him. The sensation he was creating with his touch, his long, pianists fingers playing in the arc between toes and heel, made her choke down a giggle.

She had forgotten he knew she was ticklish.

"Stop it!" she cried, laughing and swatting at him. The phone on the desk rang and both reached for it. Cuddy preempted him, knowing he would try to interfere with her work, and shot her hand out just quick enough to snatch up the receiver before he got there. He frowned in defeat for a moment, watching her as she tried to regain her composure. She spoke with a cracking voice, House's fingers back to work on her foot, "hello?"

She bit her lower lip and pulled her foot away from House with enough force to roll her chair back. He looked at her expectantly, though, he already knew who was on the line.

"No, I'm here," Cuddy said, smoothing out the last of her giggles, "I'm sorry. I was just… ah, what's up? No, of course we're still on for tonight. Yes. Oh, I… I was talking to a co-worker. No, not-" House lurched forward and snatched the phone away from her, causing her to cry out, "House!"

House put the phone to his ear, using his cane to keep the Dean of Medicine at bay.

"Hello, Kevin? Ah. Sorry, Doctor Cuddy is a bit busy right now," he smiled, smirking at Cuddy. She stared at him, incredulous, as he whispered at her, "it's under the desk. Lisa, there. Your bra is under the desk." He returned to the phone, his regular voice etched with thinly veiled malice, "Sorry about that. What was it that you needed?"

Feigning surprise, he offered the phone to his boss.

"He hung up."

Cuddy grabbed the phone and slammed it down on the receiver, looking at House, completely enraged. He grinned at her.

"He didn't actually hang up."

"House!!!"

"What? You were the one who decided to believe me. You and Kevin have that in common, I suppose. You're both gullible."

Cuddy stood, her eyes flashing with anger, confusion and the desire to cause him physical harm. She hit her palms hard against the edge of her desk, her only violent outlet, and then pointed toward the door. It was difficult to find words, her mind unable to adjust from being perfectly content to blisteringly wrathful in so short a period.

"Get out."

House shifted into a more comfortable position on the desk, now that his lap was free of her legs. He wasn't going anywhere, and the way he tapped his cane on the floor, leaning on the top of it, emphasized this. His smile faded into a look of feigned hurt and innocence, and he spoke apologetically.

"Are you mad at me, Doctor Cuddy?"

Cuddy turned on him, her hand meeting his scruffy cheek with a sharp sound that seemed to echo through the room. For a moment they were both stunned, but Cuddy quickly recovered the momentum, "How dare you? It's like the only way you can survive is if you're making me miserable. You come up with these schemes to ruin any and everything I like. My job you've got under your thumb: you seem me everyday, and all you have to do to give me mountains of work is diagnose someone in that special way of yours. So you're attacking my personal life, something you have no right to even know about, let alone participate in. Yes, I shared an intimate secret with you, and our history doesn't have some shared baggage, but I thought you were at least human enough to, oh I don't know, pull of some sort of a friendship. You don't even have to like me, I'm not asking for you to -care-. All you had to do was respect me, and my relationships. But you can't handle that. That's too tough. You're petty and jealous, and you can't stand the sight of me with a guy I like. You have to butt in, play these stupid games with me, start making me think that maybe I've got it wrong, maybe there's another motive behind all the attention you're giving me-"

She cut herself off, not just because the siren in her mind was warning her that she might say just a bit too much, but because she saw a figure coming towards her office through the glass of the doors. She turned back to House, her attention drawn for barely a second, and found him standing beside her, a terrifying, intoxicating, unfamiliar look in his eyes. For a moment her heart stopped, her eyes locked on his, her lungs refusing to draw breath. He took her by the arms, firmly, and pulled her to him, their lips meeting before her brain had time to register his motives.

Instinct allowed her to pull an arm free and raise it, ready to smack him again and break the contact, but she hesitated. Her hand fell against his face, but softly, following the line of his jaw until her fingers were lost in his hair. The passion of his kiss left her dazed, her lips almost bruised by the sheer intensity, her body hot and tense against his.

She closed her eyes, giving in, pulling him to her.

And then she broke away, escaping around the desk in a moment of panic. She gasped for air. She looked at House, but found his glance was to the door. She followed his eyes, expecting to see Kevin standing there, shocked, hurt and upset. It turned out to be worse than she had thought. He was gone.

A thought struck Cuddy in that moment, and it nearly floored her. She couldn't imagine how she had allowed herself to believe he was a decent person. That he was capable of normal human emotion. It seemed logical enough. They were familiar with each other, in all the ways that counted, and they both were perfectly aware of the strong sexual tension between them. He must have acted on that, she argued with herself, it was impulse borne on his jealousy and his sincere desire to be with her.

She watched him limp around the desk, approaching her. Her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You did that to hurt Kevin," she said listlessly, no longer capable of vocal expression, "the same reasons as always. To ruin anything I may have had with him. To keep me off the market, but without actually committing." She laughed, bitter and sad, "You noticed when I saw him, and reacted to the threat."

"Yes."


	5. Chapter 5: What About Everything

**This is a short chapter, but that's because... well. It was much longer at one point. So long, in fact, that I decided to split it and post the two as individual chapters. Ha.**

**I don't like this chapter. It was really difficult to write, and there's not much to show for it. It's choppy and weird, but I can't read my own stuff and edit it, so there's really not much I can do now that I've finished. Heh...**

**That's what Reviews are for! But be nice.  
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**What About Everything  
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Kicking House out of her office had been a difficult, exasperating task, but she accomplished with a poise and grace he hadn't deserved. Instead of hitting him, preferably somewhere that would sting for some time afterwards, she had calmly asked him to leave. When that didn't work she called security and they escorted him, politely, from the office. It wasn't like it was the first time.

After that she could not bear the confines of her office. It felt as if the walls were creeping ever closer together. She had escaped as soon as she was able, though; by that time the entire hospital was treating her as if she was supposed to be there. It took a while, but she managed to escape the grasp of building and the staffers as they rallied to crush her spirit and enslave her to a full day of paper work and phone calls. It was a furtive affair in the end, sneaking out with only her Secretary fully aware that she would not be returning.

She was exhausted and soaked to the bone by the time she got back to her home. Getting back was difficult, without her regular mode of transportation, but, once again, it wasn't the first time she had jogged from work. Of course, she usually tried to avoid running in the rain.

Sneezing, Cuddy collapsed onto her sofa, pulling her coat off and letting it fall in a heap of fabric and water onto the floor.

She fell asleep. Sooner than she would have liked she was awakened, her telephone ringing. She got up and, groggy, answered it without thinking that it might be someone she would rather not speak to. That thought struck her as her questioning greeting slipped from her lips. She tried to stop it, stopping half way through the simple two syllable word, but it was too late.

"Did you just say 'hell'?"

She sighed, laughing in relief. It was a voice she had not expected, but was glad to hear.

"Kevin, listen, I should apologize and explain-"

"Wait, let me go first. I've got a story. Okay?" Her silence told him to continue, "So this morning, I left the house of the woman I have some… pretty deep feelings for thinking we were on… pretty solid ground. I mean, she had a guy sniffing around her, but I felt I could trust her because she is a good, honest person. I think over the fight we had, and I keep feeling worse about it, so I tried to call her at work, to make sure our date for that evening was still on."

He paused, listening as she sighed, wishing he could see the memories coming to her at that moment so he would truly know what had happened.

"That man I told you was always hounding her? Well, he's there. He takes the phone from her and feeds me a line about her bra being under the desk. Then I get hung up on. It's not that I don't trust her, though, I'm an honest person and I would feel bad if I said that I wasn't a bit unnerved by the thought of the two of them alone in her office. So I drive over to the hospital, and it's pouring down with rain. I'm looking for a spot near the hospital, and I see that the spot reserved for the Dean of Medicine is empty. Which, you know, is funny, because I could have sworn she had told me she was going to drive herself in."

"Kevin… he wouldn't let me say no. He brought an extra helmet: he was dead set on getting me on the back of that thing, and against my better judgment…"

The way Kevin was speaking, calm and without venom, made Lisa feel as if she had committed a series of sins against him. In a way, she had picked House over him, breaking the trust he so willingly gave to her. He deserved better than that. If she could not accomplish something as simple declining a ride from him, what would happen if House made a much more personal invitation? She did not question Kevin's justification. He had every right to imagine the worse when he heard the two doctors were alone together.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really done yet. I figured that maybe she had realized she would be working late, and if I came to the hospital to pick her up for our date she would either have to come back for her car, or we would go separately. To avoid this, I can see why she would hop on the back of a motorcycle. So I go to her office. The other man is there, of course, and when she sees me coming I can make out that she is trying to get him out. But then he does something that, really, pissed me off. He put his hands on her, pulled her to him, and kissed her. But I guess that's not really what got me. It was her reaction. For half a minute I was so proud of her. She raised her hand, and I thought he was going to get the hardest slap in his life, but something stops her. I don't know what, but it must have been pretty convincing. I left after she started kissing him back. So… I stew for a couple of hours, then call her office to find she's gone home. And here we are."

Cuddy could not reply. She heard him sigh into the phone, heard the crackle as he shifted, and let him have a moment to recollect himself. The phone seemed a conductor of emotion, and as deeply as she received his sadness and betrayal, he got a deeper understanding of her guilt and shame. To her surprise, he broke the tense silence with a laugh.

"Lisa, I'm not going to lie to you, here. I think I'm falling in love with you."

"You're… doing what?"

"I think I love you. The more I'm around you, the more I… the more we seem to just… I'm only this jealous because I think you and I should be… I'm sorry."

Now it was Cuddy's turn to laugh, "I really think the last thing you need to do right now is apologize. Leave that one to me, okay?"

"Deal. But I don't really want you to apologize. I mean, if you just told me what happened. I know you and… and House have a complicated history, and it's not fair for me to expect you to just… stop being whatever it is you are to him. You two have a dependence on each other that I can't even begin to understand. But you're worth the effort, you really are, and I'll try. I promise I will. So… will you go out with me tonight?"

"Of course… I would be… you're so nice to me… you're too nice to me."

"Probably because I've never loved anyone quite like this. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours."

He hung up, leaving Cuddy to wonder just what time it was. There were hundreds of other things for her to focus on, yet the fact that she had no idea what time it was seemed the easiest to deal with, and the most pressing. She hung the phone up, then tried to locate a clock. She had to check three before she actually believed that it was half past three in the afternoon.

The nap she had taken had been a lot longer than expected.

Sneezing, Cuddy decided to get ready for her date early, then relax for the afternoon. She needed a shower, a hot shower. The doorbell ringing followed by urgent pounding of the front door did not surprise her. In fact, she had fully been expecting some sort of interruption. It would have been too easy to make a plan, and then have it happen. She made her way slowly to the front door, almost hoping who ever it was would be gone by the time she got there.

He wasn't.

Pulling the door open, Cuddy snapped in lieu of an introduction, "shouldn't you be at work? Honestly, how many people do you let die just to pay me these very special visits?"

Gregory House grunted a response. That was as much conversation as he got in before Cuddy shut the door on him. He knocked with his cane, only to receive the click of a lock as his response. She stood leaning on the door for a moment, listening, but nothing more came of it. When she peered through the peephole, House was gone.

Exasperated, but slightly relieved, Cuddy returned to the preparations for her shower. Soon enough, Cuddy was relaxing. She had changed her mind, and opted for a soothing bath, surrounded by bubbles and intoxicating scents, a towel behind her neck and one over her eyes, her head back against the side as music played rather loudly around her. It was a bath designed for her to let her escape her trouble, her stress, her job: her life. She dozed happily, breathing deeply and feeling the happiness of the morning return to her.

She jolted upright at the sound of a crash, the towels around her slipping into the water, the wood of the bathroom door groaning in protest. She stared at the door, frozen. She was naked, in water, and, most importantly:

Completely naked.

The door was hit again, the sound echoing violently. Her instincts kicked in, despite her surprise, and she quickly analyzed the sound. It was not a thud followed by the splintering of wood. It was hard, but without force, centered in the door rather than near the knob, where the hold was weakest. It also did not match the sound a hand, shoulder or foot on wood would make, but rather clanged as if someone were hitting it with another piece of wood. She watched as the doorknob began to turn, her body not reacting. She watched him come in, lying in the bathtub, her eyes glued on where she knew his eyes would appear, her heart in her throat.

"I knocked, but you didn't reply," House said, stepping in and staring down at her. He wasn't shy about it, wearing the same face he would as if she were sitting behind her desk, dressed as normal, "I thought you might have drowned."

"How did you get in?"

"Your front door and I had a discussion, and it decided the friendly thing to do was to let me in," House crossed the bathroom and shut the CD player off, shaking his head at her choice of music. He then sat on the rim of the bathtub, his back to her. Despite not having his eyes on her, Cuddy felt incredibly insecure. She tried to sink lower into the tub, gathering the bubbles protectively over the most important parts of her body.

"Can you hand me a towel?"

"What for?" Even as he spoke, he reached for a nearby towel, hooking his cane under a fold and hoisting it up. He held it out to her, not turning to look. She stood and snatched it away in one smooth motion, hardly disturbing the water and wrapping the towel around her effectively. House turned his head, taking a moment to look her up and down.

There was something inexplicably exotic about woman in towels. He could not say towels were more exciting than nothing at all, but they were definitely close. The sight of her drew his breath away, and he stood awkwardly, reaching out with strong, confident arms to help her from the bath tub. She made sure to keep a firm grasp on her towel as she accepted his aid, much to his chagrin. They stood facing each other, Cuddy dripping from the bath and House drenched from the rain water he had just escaped. For a moment he wished he had a camera, an idea of blackmail flashing into his mind. They looked as if they had been participating in some interesting activities in the bath that had very little to do with getting clean.

Cuddy, her eyes blazing like a tigress, stalked by him. She made sure to check her shoulder against his arm, knocking him off balance and giving her enough time to escape any groping hands. He kept to himself, smiling to himself as he watched the sway of her body, the towel just barely stopping above the knee. Her legs were beautiful, sleek and looked soft. Her hair was messy, clinging and wet, but the way it draped around her shoulders was amazing. He limped behind her, following her through her bedroom like a puppy.


	6. Chapter 6: When We Dance

**Thank you all for the 5000 hits and 65 reviews! Keep them coming. **

**Longer than the last one, this one was much more fun to write.**

**WARNING: NC-17 ahead!**

**This will -probabaly- be the only chapter in this fic rated higher than T. That's why I don't think it fair to change the rating on the whole story. Don't read this chapter if you're not old enough (18) or if you don't agree with it. I'll make the next chapter work without it.  
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**When We Dance**

She grabbed her dressing robe and wrapped herself in it, letting the towel drop once she was sure he would not be able to see anything. The robe was large and pillowy, far less flattering to her dynamite body than the towel. He was disappointed.

Feeling a bit more protected, Cuddy turned on him suddenly, looking up into his eyes with a look that could wither a flower. She almost growled, "What the hell are you doing here? Did you break my door?"

"No, of course not. It was about time you got that changed, anyway. If a man with most of the muscle in his leg missing can kick it in, that's a good sign it was time to let go. And I'm here because you weren't in your office."

Cuddy folded her arms over her chest, feeling an acute rage piercing through the calm she was desperately trying to maintain, "I can't believe you! You try to destroy my relationship and you break into my home? You've really gone too far. This creepy infatuation you have with me has to stop. It's unhealthy… for both of us." House watched her as she crossed the room to her wardrobe, digging through it to find more appropriate attire that a bathrobe to chastise him in. He sauntered over to her, using his cane to add affect to his pimp walk, coming to stand directly behind her. His closeness made her stop, some strange modesty making the idea of House seeing her clothes unfathomable. She closed the wardrobe and turned to face him, leaning back against the furniture to give herself a bit more room to confront him.

"I hate to break this to you," he said, his voice even and almost bored, "but I'm not the only one playing this game. You protest, but you and I both know you're not helpless. You're letting me in, leading me on: because you're infatuated, too."

Cuddy bristled, "Ignoring, for now, the fact that you finally admitted it; you're toxic to me, House. For some sick reason you delight in making everything good in my life turn bad, and all the bad into my own personal living hell. For God's sake, you almost drove Kevin away, and he is the sweetest, most understanding man I've ever met. For you to break his-"

"Almost?" House grunted, indignant.

"Don't sound so disappointed. You can't win all the time."

"You're still going on a date tonight, then?" He took an intimidating step towards her, closing the small personal space she had created. She watched him keenly, her eyes blazing. He saw in them all her confidence and defiance, how annoyed she was, and at the same time the irresistible glimmer of her amusement. If she was amused in a mocking way or if she was tickled in another way he could not be sure, but it excited him either way. He was not above admitting he was jealous. He would not mind having those eyes on him all the time.

"Yes," she folded her arms over her chest, covering the dip in her bathrobe that captured his attention every time she blinked, "unlike you, Kevin is a good person, and he wants to give me a chance… he says he's falling in love with me."

Her hesitation was very slight. Half a second of doubt. House caught it, dissected it, and his results made him scoff, "like Kevin knows anything about love."

"And you do?" She knew it was a non-sequitur, and it left House a lot of room to tear her open. She did not attempt to assert a better defense.

"I know enough to see that, no matter how hard he wishes at night, you don't love him."

It took a long time for Cuddy to digest his words. The more she turned the thoughts over in her mind the stronger the acidic burning in her throat became. Her stomach was tight and somersaulting. Her chest ached with the thunder of her heartbeat, while a piercing headache launched an attack on all her senses. Her instincts told her to get as far away from him as possible, but her legs refused to listen. She locked eyes with him, as challenging as locking horns, and stood her ground.

"You don't know a damn thing," she said, with effort. He could hear the anger in her tone. He smirked at her, retorting quickly.

"You don't even like him!" he let his voice rise, shifting his weight onto his cane, his body language telling her he firmly believed what he was saying.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Cuddy did not lose the pace, "I know you like to imagine yourself in his place, so to clear up your confusion: I don't like you. I like Kevin."

House waved his hand, "That's just you tricking yourself into believing short-sighted rationalizations, because they make you feel comfortable and safe. The dangerous truth, that you'll deny with all your diplomatic prowess, is that you don't like Kevin. And you certainly can't ever love him. You're too busy pretending you don't l…ike me."

"Don't project your narcissism on me," she jabbed him with a finger, getting closer in an effort to force him back. He held up his cane like a barrier on the only side she could effectively escape to, the other too close to a wall. She did not back down, "I don't see what you see in you: you're vile, rude, cynical, egocentric, demeaning-"

"I'm flattered," he leaned forward, taking a half step closer, forcing her back against the wardrobe so he loomed over her. She retreated, but her eyes never lost their fire, "that you still want me when I'm so flawed."

Cuddy, cornered and frustrated, began to lose steam, "shut the hell up, House: you have no right-"

"I have every right!" House roared. The ferocity of his delivery stunned Cuddy speechless. She could not interrupt, even if she wanted to. He continued, his intensity so magnetic it drew them together. He stared down at her, their bodies a breath apart, his hand on her arm, as he spoke with vehemence, "Kevin can't satisfy you because he's so damn sweet. Just looking at him makes my teeth rot. He does everything for you; at home, on dates, in bed. He lets you make all the decisions, and plays it safe in every aspect of your relationship. If he does make a choice it's one he knows you'd've picked."

Cuddy found herself watching his lips as frequently as she stared into his eyes. She scowled as he finished, gripping his shirt in both her hands with half an idea to shove him backwards. She took a short amount of time to consider it, knowing full well he would not be able to maintain his balance. Not feeling particularly sensitive to his disability, she put all the force she could muster into pushing him back, "Just because he respects-"

To her surprise, House doubled his grip on her arm. He allowed himself to fall, not wasting time on trying to save his footing and instead focused on bringing her down with him. He succeeded, jerking her down with unintended strength. They hit the floor one after another, the Dean of Medicine half on top of the diagnostician. Her elbow connected with the floor, numbing her arm and giving her a rub burn. She shoved her hands under her, bracing herself by pushing down on his stomach. He stopped her from getting up, pulling her down again and rolling on top of her. He winced at the painful pressure pinning her down with his body put on his leg. He spoke down to her, figuratively and literally.

"That's not respect." He kept his eyes on her face, against his instincts, as she struggled under him to fix her bathrobe. "that's fear. He's intimidated by how powerful and in control you are. He sees you as a dominatrix, and I bet his deepest, darkest fantasies involve you on top with a whip. But that's not what you need or want, is it? You get to be the boss everyday, and hundreds of people treat you with that same intimidated compliance, probably sharing that same fantasy, whenever they see you."

Cuddy's eyes smoldered up at him, her eyebrows deeply furrowed in a look of unbridled rage. He had never seen her so angry, and that was simply amazing to him. She was intoxicating, hating him, the heat of her loathing burning his palms as he kept her arms pinned. The fabric of her robe was useless to filter it, or maybe it kept his skin from melting to hers.

"Like you?"

Despite being crippled, forced to hobble on a cane, Gregory House was a strong man. If he didn't want her to escape, she was not going any where. He was tall, evenly muscled, and captive to the taut sexual tension threatening to implode around them. Knowing that he should take these realizations and back off, leave her safe and even help her up, House was seduced by the fresh smell of her hair and soap cleaned, perfume free body, her skin soft and delicate. He lowered his upper body and, without checking in with her, kissed her brazenly. She tensed under him, her hands gripping whatever part of his clothes she could find. There was no resistance. She did not give in to him, lifting her head to meet and counter this sensual attack with her own. He pulled back, their lips still brushing as he breathed and spoke.

"No, not like me," he kissed her again, passionately, desperately, "whenever I see you, I see a woman that wants to be dominated," he shifted his weight to allow himself the use of his hands, remaining mostly on top of her, yet tilted to the side to use the floor as support. He worked to free her of her robe, an easy task made mind numbingly difficult by his desire to be inside her. She pulled his shirt over his head, forcing him to stop his useless grasping to get his head and arms free, "you like it when people play rough with you," he triumphantly undid the knot on the fabric belt of her robe, exposing her body. She shuddered, but not with embarrassment, "you thrive on challenge, and you need the chance to fight for that Alpha status," she pulled the leather belt open, loosening his pants with an almost violent fervor, "that so many people just give you willingly," she kissed him, tasting whatever words House had left in that sentence rather than waiting for him to pronounce them. He groaned into her throat, making her shiver. Their hands met and House seized the moment. Catching her before she could get to his boxers, he pinned her hands over her head, using the weight of his body to keep her under his control once more.

She allowed herself a moan as his lips found the most sensitive shadows of her body, his rough fingers gripping her wrists too tightly, and not tightly enough. He stopped, looking down at her, smiling enigmatically.

"So what, House?" Cuddy asked breathlessly, feeling compelled to speak now that it was her turn, "you think I long for you because you fight me at every corner, and make my life difficult?"

She surprised him by freeing herself and pulling him into a deep kiss, wrapping her legs around his hips, effectively assuming control.

"Pretty much," House said, muffled by their lips still locked in a sensual kiss. He acquiesced to her leading, working to remove the last articles of their clothing, only succeeding because she let him. They did not pause, the flow of their passion leading her naturally to accept him, his thrusts uninhibited and whole. She took him as deeply as their bodies would allow, urging him deeper, digging her nails into his back. Pain, for once in his life, was indistinguishable from pleasure. His moans and grunts came from both at once: rawly erotic and ardently torturous. Without conscious thought, he shared that wildly unfamiliar, brutal, and inebriating sensation with her, his hands rough, his kisses bruising, his movements assertive and heavy. For a while they continued like this, until she forced them into a roll, seizing control once more.

Sitting up and looking down at him, "You're lying to yourself," she breathed at last, her words punctuated by their rhythm, "you just described the woman you're craving," her lithe, clever fingers explored the grooves and intricacies of his chest, working her hips against his in time with the heartbeat she found there, "the kind of man you wish I want." Watching her, he felt a surge of affinity and reached up to take her face into his hands, shifting to sit up and bring his lips to hers. She let him lead her down, both sharing their explosive climaxes through the intensity of the kiss.

Panting, Cuddy rolled from on top of him onto the floor, staring at the ceiling. Once she found enough breath, she sighed, "you can't make me fall for you, House."

"You already have," House, equally winded, said pointedly. Cuddy moved and for a moment House did not know where she was going. He felt her hands on his leg, finding their way across his thigh. He stiffened; excited by the mere idea of what she was doing.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she warned, not quite playfully, then more conversationally added, "and I haven't fallen for you. On top of you, yes. For you… not so much."

She took his penis, which was already giving her renewed interest, in her right hand, running her thumb down its length teasingly as she moved closer, her breath arousing every one of his nerve endings with tormenting anticipation. He shuddered violently as her hand worked almost mindlessly over his reiteratively fully erect member, her attention drawn elsewhere. He was surprised, but not unpleasantly, when the warmth of her lips met the scars covering his upper thigh. She explored his pain with kisses and softness, while the rhythm of her wrist kept his pleasure raging. The number of sensations, coupled with the sheer intensity of her exotic beauty and the years of pent up sexual attraction finally being realized, threatened to overwhelm him. Moaning her name, he let his head fall back against the hard floor, letting her dominate him.

He felt her weight on top of him and, through ecstasy blurred vision, watched her straddle him, taking him inside her for the second time in a very short period. She did all the work for a moment, as House watched, captivated. Another territorial surge pulsed through him, and he put his arms around her, pulling her into a roll, reassuming his position on top of her. He hilted himself inside her, making her cry out lustfully. In an instant he had her begging for more. Already close to exploding, the raspy urgency in her voice, the way she clung to him, the slickness of their touching skin and the sweaty, salty aroma of their passion pushed him over the edge.

Later, he woke to find himself on the floor, his back and leg aching satisfyingly, her light frame warm against him, his chest her pillow. Unable to resist a moment of sheer affection, sure she was fast asleep, he ran his hand through her thick, messy hair. She drew a deep, contented breath, looking up at him sleepily. He smiled at her, amused that they had almost sexed each other unconscious. He lazily groped around him for his watch, found it, and checked the time.

"Hey, Cuddles?" He asked with a grunt, finding it difficult to speak. She snorted at the nickname, hoping silently that it wouldn't last.

"Mhm."

"What time is that date of yours?"


	7. Chapter 7: Smoke on the Water

**Heh, this chapter is all clean. No worries! **

**Hey, since I don't plan ahead before writing, I was wondering what you guys might want to see in coming chapters? Just drop me a note in your reviews, and we'll see what I can do for you. **

** I want people to enjoy this. It's fun to write, but, really; I'm not doing it for me.  
**

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**Smoke on the Water**

"Shit!"

Lisa Cuddy could not figure out how long she had been lying on the floor, wrapped in the almost adulterous embrace of Gregory House. She did not really care. She felt the softness of his hand playing through her hair, heard the content hum in his tone. Her body ached, but in a marvelous, satisfying way. She recalled him interrupting her bath, the fight that preceded it, and the gloriously angry, passionate sex that ensued. The impact of this memory sent a wave of panic through her, as she was keenly aware, very naked frame.

In one fluid motion she was away from him, pulling her bathrobe from beneath him and wrapping it around herself. It burned against her tingling skin, steeped in his warmth. She attempted to draw a deep, steadying breath. Her senses were assailed by him, the physical imprint of their impromptu passion searing through her every pore. Flashes of their encounter numbed her to everything but him. The smell of his body that lingered on her skin intoxicated her, making her attempt to steady herself utterly futile.

Having planned on a relaxing afternoon in her bathtub, followed by an easy, calm hour or two to prepare for her date with Kevin, her clothes for the evening were waiting for her on the edge of her bed. Mindlessly working, distracted by how angry her body seemed to be without House near her, she began the process of dressing herself. She got as far as her underwear, letting her robe slip from her when she felt reasonably covered, in the middle of putting her bra on when her awareness of herself, her situation, and her company returned to her.

She had not heard him get up, despite the difficulty he had of it without his cane, his fingers surprising her as they brushed her back. He took over the task of connecting the clasp of her bra. She stood still at his touch, scared to move. One motion would be the difference between encouraging a repeat of that afternoon and pushing him away. Neither struck her as a particularly good idea, though; the former was an impulse she had a hard time of keeping at bay.

"You should leave," she said, barely a whisper, finally remembering to breathe.

"Stand him up."

'I…" She closed her eyes, desperately searching for a good reason, "I can't. He's coming to pick me up."

"Pretend you're not here. Turn off all the lights. Hide your car. I'll more my bike around the side. Besides, you're in no condition to go out tonight, after that."

"You weren't that amazing," she said, with a sigh. It did not bother her that her listless reply left the implication that he was, in fact, amazing wide open. His grin was so ferocious, she could feel it as he stared at her, the subtle hairs on the back of her neck standing under his intensity. She gasped sharply as his arms slipped around her waist, drawing her to him affectionately. His body, naked and enticingly slick with expectant perspiration, pressed against her bare back. The touch made her shudder, which in turn made him hug her tighter. She felt like she could stay there forever, and knew it was the most dangerous sensation he could elicit from her.

"Stay. With me."

This one complete gesture –the grip of his arms hugging her, the closeness of his naked body, the brush of his ruggedly bearded chin on her shoulder- was strange on a thousand different levels.

She did not know how to think in that moment. Every conscious effort she made to understand his words, to absorb the meaning in his gentle touch, to rationalize the way he made her hot and cold at once, failed. His need, his desire and passion reverberated through her body, entrancing. She was addicted to the way he made her body react; every skipped heart beat, every fluttered breath, and each subconscious, randomly incoherent articulation was as potent to her as any drug.

He held her and she did not fight to escape him. His lips on her neck silently echoed his words, which Cuddy struggled to recall as time slipped away. She was aware that she had no idea how long they had been standing together, their breathing and subtle hums of pleasure in sync, unable to count the passing moments.

His softness was foreign. Not just the caress of his fingers or the weight of his arms above her hips, but the tone of his voice and the words it brought life to. He was almost pleading for her to spend the rest of the evening with him, unwilling to share her, his mighty pride trumped by his need for her. The thought that she had the power to affect him in this way left her feeling dumbstruck. She couldn't allow herself to believe it, to make herself vulnerable, to open herself up and leave herself defenseless.

He was House, after all. If there was one thing she had learned in the years she had known him, it was that he never dealt in face value. Every thing he did was layered, and he played every situation like a game of poker. He always thought ahead, planning and accommodating any variable that came into his path. His poker face was flawless, his bluffs as sincere as his truths. His hand was always devastating, no matter what Cuddy or anyone or thing dealt him. Even when he was forced to fold it was for his own benefit, as if he had assumed it all along, his admissions of defeat as vicious and effective as any winning hand. She couldn't help but feel like she was already halfway through a game, and only now looked at her cards. Whatever strategy House was using, she was blind to it, and it was far too late for her to try and fight back.

Then he kissed her neck again and she let go of that line of thought, all her doubt and apprehension surrendered for blissful indulgence.

"Greg…"

She turned in his arms, not gaining any space between them, and looked up into his blue eyes. They were smiling, though his face was expressionless. He was trying to hide the fact that he knew he was winning her over. They kissed, mutual and deep.

"You have to go." She finally mustered the willpower to disengage from him, fleeing with dignity to her bathroom. She shut the door and took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, burying her face in her hands and letting out an exasperated sigh. She had managed to grab her clothes in her haste, and busied herself once more by getting dressed. When she emerged, slowly easing the door open and casting a glance around as if she expected to be ambushed, House had gathered his things and gone. It was almost disappointing to find that he had actually listened to her.

Half an hour before her love struck boyfriend came to pick her up for a date, Cuddy had managed to successfully get rid of the man she had just completed an afternoon of unprotected sex with.

The Dean of Medicine spent fifteen minutes fixing her mussed hair. It was thick and luminous, soft and strangely pliable. It did just what she wanted it to do, yet she found herself disinclined to do anything to it. Smoothing the dress, perfectly fitted, she felt rather pretty. Her make up had gone on flawlessly, light and subtle. She looked ready for a long, romantic night out.

She did not, however, want one.

Completing the hassle of getting dolled up, Cuddy rewarded herself by gracing the front lawn and the window-gazing neighbors around her with her gorgeous presence. It was the least she could do, considering neither of the men she actually wanted to see her would be missing the opportunity. Creepy, borderline stalker people-watchers were the best she could hope to settle for.

The moments she spent outside the shelter of her home were filled with a slight, persistent paranoia. She could almost see Kevin driving up as she turned the key in the ignition of her car. It was exciting, in a way she could not reasonably understand. The admission of that fact, rather than the deed itself, made her feel shamed and dirty. It was as if a part of her wanted to get caught, despite how adamantly she insisted to herself that having to explain to Kevin why she was trying to hide from him would be torturous, and coming up with a lie that she would inevitably be caught in would be even worse.

Her premonition did not come to pass. She pulled the car into the garage and got the door closed without incident, standing and watching it until it sealed away the dim light from outside completely. Furtively, as if hiding from some invisible company, she had managed to sneak a look around for House's motorcycle, half-heartedly hoping he had not really gone, that he was waiting as he had earlier that day: defiant and confident. She returned to the living room disappointed.

Turning off not only the lights, but almost everything electrical, Cuddy managed to steep her home in an almost midnight thick darkness. Taking a bottle of wine with her, sans a glass, she hunkered down on the sofa and began her perfidious wait.

An eternity of thoughts assaulted her in those long six and a half minutes.

The sheer amount of shit that had happened in the course of one badly timed day off was humbling, at best. She decided she much preferred devoting herself to her work over exposing herself to the hell that was a personal life. Things had started so well, she mused. A day off. A sunny morning. Knowing exactly where she stood with the only romantic relationship in her life. A professional agitation she enjoyed dealing with each day. Everything had been complicated, yet in a simple, manageable way.

Then the weather broke, and with it, she reflected, her common sense. The motorcycle ride in the rain, the kiss in her office, the surprise break in: House had suddenly become the most important person in her life, and she could not figure out how. He had somehow inserted himself into the forefront of her every decision. Or maybe he had always been there, as Kevin had alluded, and only when she was venturing away from him did they both come to see how toxically dependent they were on each other.

Sleeping with him had been a surprise.

The second time slightly less.

Sneezing, she got more comfortable on the sofa and braced herself, preparing for the war of rationalization against instinct that was surely brewing within her. But it never came, her mind surprisingly clear. The doorbell rang and she stayed silent. Knocking, and another ring followed by more knocking preluded receding footsteps a persistent ten minutes later. At that point Cuddy let out a breath. She took a swig of the alcohol she had brought with her to smooth the process of hiding from, quite literally, love. It was her first taste, and as it went down she came to realize that she had no inclination towards getting drunk.

She sighed.

Avoiding Kevin for the evening would not make the job of talking to him any easier in the long run. He would track her down, before the night was over. Once he discovered she had not been called to the hospital, he would undoubtedly call her home, or cell. Probably both. He was such a sweet man, he would more than likely think something had happened to her, rather than suspect her of infidelity. Making him fret over her safety was akin to rubbing salt in a wound, and was more than she could bear. If he called, she would answer.

What had possessed her to cower in the shadows in the first place mystified her. It pained her to admit just how much sway House had with her. A clever touch, an uncharacteristically soft word, and she was ready to throw away something she had only started to give a chance for him. She felt used, tricked somehow, but knew it was not to House she had fallen prey.

Denial had a funny way of catching up. She spent her days instigating and settling fights with him, just to keep him around her finger, and herself around his. She was addicted to him, as he was his vicodin. She imagined the surge of indescribable physical and psychological clarity was the same for him and his number of pills as it was for her and his relative closeness. She chastised him for his drug abuse, while at the same time satisfying her own need for confrontation with him.

The conversation from that afternoon floated back to her. He had made some generalizations about her that she denied. It was a stretch to say he was totally right, but there was no escaping the fact that he was damn close. She did not want a man who would simply roll over for her, yet nor did she desire someone who would dominate her completely. Fighting was what she knew how to do. And she was damn good at it. She did not need another subordinate: she needed an adversary.

Kevin Young was not a fighter. He was charming and compassionate, understanding and mushy. He knew how to respect women, and how to sweep them off their feet. Romance was his forte, as endearingly awkward as he was, and he excelled at making people fall for him. She wondered now if she had been a victim of his innocent charisma. In retrospect, it was difficult for her to remember a distinct moment of electric chemistry between them, the kind of flame that would lead to a spontaneous bout of fornication on the floor.

Even so, she could not imagine leaving Kevin for a man like House. She was drunk on his magnetism, craving his fervor, rapturous in his embrace. If they were just making up for years of sexual tension, she did not want to abandon something that could be love for a week, month or even a year of lust.

She sighed, her legs tingling at the thought of how good it had been. She curled into a tight ball, hugging her knees to her after careful positioning the dress to keep it from creasing or worse, a thin attempt to stifle her unbidden excitement.

With House things were wild, exasperating and intense. Torrid was the perfect word to describe what they could be, if given half a chance. Spontaneity fueled them, their carnal, erotic affiliation too powerful for either of them to fight against, yet not quite strong enough to form a lasting relationship.

With Kevin things were safe. She knew what to expect of him, and the level of trust she could pour from him was immeasurable. He deserved better than her, particularly after her mini, faux affair. She needed to tell him the truth, and resolved to do so the next time she saw him. She wasn't quite brave enough to pick up the phone and make the call herself.

Breathing deeply, slowly, she assumed she was all but decided. Her heart skipped a beat as the doorbell sounded. Laughing at herself and her reaction, she made her way to the door. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the lock. She paused with her hand half turning the knob, gathering her courage and forcing herself to look through the peephole.

To her surprise, dismay, pleasure and expectation, the man she wanted to see was waiting patiently on the step.

She opened the door, and the two stared at each other for a long, silent moment. He was grinning at her, his eyes devilish and aggressive. She acknowledged his challenge by stepping backwards. He limped forward, joining her in the entryway, pushing the door closed with his foot as he towered over her. She stared up at him, unsure of what she was getting into, but lacking the will to stop them.

She let him in.


	8. Chapter 8: Truly Madly Deeply

**Alrighty! A new chapter. See, I was going to end the night, but I sort of got carried away. So chapter nine is going to be the last of this long day off, and after that we might see some of Wilson and the Ducklings.**

**100 reviews! Thank you so much everyone! Keep them coming! This is so awesome. I really appreciate all the feedback. **

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**Truly Madly Deeply**

He stepped inside, limping as he put his bad leg forward first. He turned in the short distance between the doorstep and Cuddy's side, one step and a slight pivot bringing him directly next to her, looking down into her expectant eyes as he reached back with his good leg and kicked the door closed. They stood for a moment in the shallow darkness, silent but for their breathing. He knew what he wanted to do, what she wanted him to do.

Neither moved.

"You have a funny way of waiting for your date," House said, his voice lacking his usual edge. Cuddy mumbled something, an excuse, or some sort of cover up. She bowed her head, and he reacted without thought. He did not want to lose her eyes, and his hands knew how to remedy that. He cupped her chin tenderly, using an assertive, meaningful amount of pressure to bring her face back up, her eyes clear despite the lack of light. The softest of smiles crossed her face, her eyes shifting from his face, to some place away. She was uncomfortable, and it was beautiful. Fighting the urge to kiss her, he let her go and took his cane from the wall, having let it lean there when he needed full use of both his hands.

Leading the way into the dark living room, he noted the bottle on the table, shooting a glance back her, his expression chiding. She offered him a blameless shrug.

"I was thirsty?"

"Do you have anything a little less… feminine?" He asked, picking up the bottle and looking at the label disapprovingly.

"Beer."

"Sounds good," House flopped down on the sofa, taking a swig of the champagne. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to go and fetch him the drink she had not technically offered to him. Sighing, yet smiling, she left his line of sight and went into the kitchen.

He sighed, breathing deeply. The darkness of the room lent itself to House focusing on his other senses. He had yet to get a good look at her, but for the outline of her figure in the gloom he knew she was dressed to kill. It almost made him feel bad for the doughy Kevin Young, who was not going to get the chance to see her at her most lustrous. She returned to find him musing, an expression of smug teasing on his face. Realizing it was not directed at her, she moved closer to him, handing him a cold beer without turning on a light.

He accepted the drink with a tip of his head, toasting her with the champagne bottle before putting it on the floor, near the side of the sofa. Out of sight, out of mind. Her own beer in her hand, she took a seat beside him, closer than she needed to be on the roomy three-seater. He absorbed the sultry warmth that seemed to radiate from her frame, taking a heavy swallow from the bottle in his hand as he leaned back, free hand around the back of the sofa, angling his body so he could examine her completely.

She was leaning forward, barely situated on the chair, holding the bottle in both her hands, elbows in the middle of her lap. The dress, though he could not see the color, fitted her perfectly. Her sense of style never faltered, always giving House something to comment on. Most of the time he found himself teasing her clothes, particularly the low cut tops, in an effort to create and maintain an easy excuse to just look at them, unabashed. He found himself staring at her now, but the feeling of freedom that came with jesting was no where to be found. She cast him a sidelong glance, clearing her throat as she modestly tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear.

He wondered for a moment why she had bothered putting the dress on.

There had been no doubt in his mind that they would end up together tonight. His suggestion of standing her up had been a request, a demand, and a plead. When she hid from him, he decided to give her a moment to gather herself. He got dressed and stashed his motorcycle around the corner, as promised, then waited and watched. He returned in time to see Kevin snooping around the front porch, bewildered that no one seemed to be home. There was dismay in his expression but, as House noticed with irritation and begrudging respect, not defeat. Kevin left, and House had moved in carefully, making sure Kevin was well out of sight before going to her door.

He had been certain. When she opened the door, he came inside with purpose. Seeing her in that dress, ready for a date, he knew her efforts were not for him. He was not the kind of man she could go on a date with. As he considered it, his eyes on her bewitching figure, he discerned that he was not sure how she saw him. He had spoken confidently about what she wanted, but now it seemed he could only understand their physical attraction. Their sexual compatibility and desires. While that was enough for some fun encounters, he knew she expected more of someone who wanted to pursue a relationship with her.

Kevin must have that depth to him. The quality that House could not see in him, the thing that kept Cuddy from letting him go completely. Her standing Kevin up meant something, he was sure. She was willing to give him a try, but not convinced he had any follow through. It took until the very last minute, House surmised, for her to back down and make the tentative choice to give the diagnostician a chance.

There was something deeply bothersome about her hesitance. It made him feel inadequate, an emotion he strived to avoid. It was like a plague to him, and he was already feeling the symptoms. The need to impress her, to sweep her off her feet, and to show her he was more than a good lay struggled against his stand-offish, inapproachable nature. Misanthropy was a difficult thing to overcome.

Particularly considering how good he was at it.

"Why did you listen?" He ventured, dangerously putting his complicated thoughts and doubts into one overly aggressive question. She looked at him, in the middle of sipping at her beer, and arched an eyebrow. She motioned at him with the bottle, taking her time in answering.

"That's not a fair question."

"So? Answer it anyway."

"No."

They lapsed into silence at that. House looked away from her, nursing his beer. The stillness between them endured for a while, and soon House found himself out of alcohol. He stood, glancing at Cuddy for half a second, just to let her know what he was doing by wordlessly shaking his empty bottle, and accepted her nod. Moving through the dark rooms carefully, he hobbled to the kitchen and got two fresh beers from the fridge. He returned to his original position on the sofa, the tension in the room oppressive, and handed her one of the bottles. They opened their drinks in unison, prompting them, despite how stressed things were, to laugh.

With a sigh, Cuddy moved closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. The gesture dissipated the dense air, and House tilted his head to rest cheek on the top of her head, the smell of her hair provocatively familiar. He kissed that hair, taking a deep breath and bringing his free hand up to smooth it under his fingers. He stopped when his fingers brushed her forehead.

"You feel okay?"

"I think I got the sniffles from the rain."

House grinned, remembering the motorcycle ride, the echo of her arms around his waist and her laughter in his ears. He put his hand on her cheek tenderly, and she looked up at him, their faces close. Her eyes were a complex pool of emotions and thoughts, yet distinctly reflected his own. Her skin was warm under his touch, despite how cool his hands were from the cold of the beer bottle, and he knew she was fighting a cold off valiantly. He kissed her, and she chuckled as he spoke with his lips on hers, "It was worth it."

Jabbing him playfully in the stomach, she pulled away, attempting to punish him by leaving his company. He kept her close, moving his arm around her shoulders, catching her in a hug and wrestling with her as she desperately fought to be free. They laughed at this play, Cuddy, although she was wearing that dress, gaining the upper hand for a moment by getting her feet on the floor and pulling away from him. He tugged back on her arms, switching places with her by balancing on one leg and turning his impressively well toned upper body. For a moment he had her against him, both of them standing, and then they were back on the sofa, Cuddy under him as he pinned her down by falling on top of her.

She grunted under his weight, but made no protest. It wasn't that she didn't want to yell at him, she simply could not force words out, choked by laughter. He laughed with her, surprised by his own actions, and by the fact that he could laugh like this. It was as if they were both children, trapped in a giggle-fit that threatened to make them pass out from lack-of air. Eventually the melody of their fun faded, leaving the two panting, their attempts to keep from asphyxiating punctuated by a persistent chuckle.

"Stay here," House said, struggling to climb from on top of her, grabbing his cane from the floor and supporting himself as he worked to get to his feet. She stared up at him, still struggling to regulate her breathing. She situated herself a bit more modestly on the sofa, House not allowing her to sit up, and acquiesced to his order with a nod. She was surprised when he left the room.

He was gone just long enough for her to acknowledge how dizzy that wrestling match had left her, to check her forehead with the back of her hand for fever, and to find his beer sitting on the floor by the sofa, her own tipped over on the other side. Knowing he would not object, and having a suitable response if he did, Cuddy stole his drink and claimed it as her own. If she was sick, he would know better than to steal it back. It was his own fault for knocking hers over. She was caught in the middle of a cough, her throat tickled from the intense bout of laughter, as House returned.

He had a bundle of things in his arms. She arched an eyebrow at him, surprised that he knew enough about her home and habits to find whatever it was he needed, for whatever it was he was planning. Clearing her coffee table with a less than gentle sweep of his arm, he placed his bundle down. She smiled at him, shaking her head as she recognized her first aid kit, a blanket, a pair of sweats, and various other cold-preventative things.

"It's barely a-"

His sharp eyes silenced her, replacing her protest with an exasperated sigh. He took from the first aid kit a thermometer and, after checking the settings, he held it to her lips. Not amused, Cuddy allowed him to slip the archaic thermometer under her tongue. They waited, one patient and the other annoyed, for the thermometer to display her temperature. House took it from her before she could get to it, looking at it and shaking his head.

"Tch," he said, as if scolding her for being caught in a lie, "Almost one hundred. That's not 'barely' anything. Now lie down and I'll… I don't know, make you some soup."

"Really, House, this is sweet and all, but you and I both know-"

"If you're going to keep this poor excuse for a thermometer around, than I'm going to follow suit and take care of you the old fashion way. Now stop being a doctor and lie down. Unless you want me to make you?"

There was a long beat as both of them considered his proposal.

Giving up, Cuddy flopped back against the arm of the chair, pulling a pillow up to give herself some comfort. House tossed her the sweats.

"As beautiful as you look, how about you get comfortable while I go fix you some food? You've gotta be starving. I am. It's dark enough in here. I won't peek." He limped back the way he had come, his goal the kitchen, and paused before leaving the room. He looked back at her, his eyes enigmatically expressive, "And you do look beautiful."

He moved into the kitchen, flicking on a light and wincing as his eyes struggled to adjust. Soon enough he was preparing a meal, working with what little he found in her fridge and cabinets to create something worthy for her. His comment about how amazing she looked did her no justice, but he doubted she would have liked the rest of what he was thinking.

She did look beautiful. Kevin did not deserve that dress, that hair: he did not deserve Cuddy at all. House believed this fervently, yet could not deny how nervous the thought of Kevin lingering around made him. He was jealous, possessive, and disliked the man for, as House saw it, his false sweetness. No man acted like Kevin did without some ulterior motive, or some hidden flaw. He was determined to keep Cuddy from discovering the worst part of Kevin's nature, fearing that it would be far worse than the imperfections House, himself, carried around him.

For all his anger and bitterness, House was not a bad person. He was a doctor. He saved lives. Kevin was a janitor, a failure as a cop, and a mystery. House did not question his baseless certainty that Kevin was dangerous. His guts were almost always spot on, and that almost only relating to the one person who continued to mystify him: the woman he was infatuated with.

He paused, almost cutting himself with a knife he hadn't realized he was using in his culinary endeavors. Infatuated with, or in love with?

Grabbing the plate, making enough for him and her on one plate, her too it and two forks out to the living room with him, able to easily manage both the plate and his cane.

She was resting on the sofa, her eyes closed, her dress over the arm on the other end. For a moment he stood a few feet away, watching her breathe, finding her even more mesmeric now than moments before. It was because he was unused to seeing her relaxing, casual and completely normal. He had seen her in almost every other sense and form. Next to having her naked and sleeping beside him or standing in a towel after a shower, he decided that this was the most alluring, tempting sight. He kneeled carefully beside the front of the sofa, putting the food down on the coffee table, and kissed her awake.

She smiled before opening her eyes, filling her lungs with the scent of the meal he had taken his time in creating.

"Smells good."

"Well, at least there's that." He turned around and grabbed the plate, looking back to find her moving to make room for him. He took his seat on the sofa, Cuddy directly next to him, and the two shared the meal in relative silence. She complimented his skills, and he mockingly replied with how little she knew about good food, considering how she kept nothing in her kitchen. Once they had finished, House replaced the plate on the coffee table, then reclined in the sofa. Cuddy curled up against him, almost instantly falling to a light, comfortable sleep, her head on his chest. He pulled the blanket he had brought from her room around her, leaving his arm around her body and leaning his head back against the back of the sofa.

Whatever this was, it felt right.

Then the phone rang.


	9. Chapter 9: Just Like a Pill

**A shorter chapter here, because I know I won't be updating a lot in this coming week, so I might as well get as many in as I can for the time being. Hahaha.**

**Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing! I promise I'll be back as soon as possible. **

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**Just Like a Pill**

House reached carefully for Cuddy's cell phone. He wanted to answer it before it woke her up, and without waking her up himself. Not a fan of defeating his own purpose, he was extremely careful as he stretched his arm towards the coffee table. The distance, however, was too great. He grabbed his cane and eased the phone off the table, tensing at the thud it made hitting the carpeted floor. Cuddy did not stir, and he continued his effort to answer her phone. Or at the very least turn it off after missing the call.

Whoever was on the other line, however, remained resolute. Even though it took House ten full rings to get the phone into his hand, from the floor, the caller did not hang up. Without looking at the ID, House flicked the phone open and put it to his ear.

"Hello?" He answered gruffly, quietly angry. It was not a greeting, in the formal sense of the word. It was challenge and an accusation, as if he believed the person calling was purposefully trying wake the woman sleeping on him up, and thus ruin their moment. House wouldn't have it, and he was intent on making that perfectly clear.

"Doctor House? Is… is Lisa there?"

House contemplated his answer, while his free hand played with Cuddy's hair, softly, as to not bother her. He let the silence stretch for too long, knowing the wait was agonizing to Kevin, who breathed an irritated sigh into the phone.

"House, seriously. I'm worried about her. Is she with you?"

"I'm with her, yes." He kept his voice low, now not solely from the desire to keep her from waking, but from the chance of getting caught in the middle of torturing her would-be boyfriend. Moving carefully, he eased her from him, slipping out while simultaneously balancing on one leg, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, and easing her gently onto the pillow. She hummed, but did not stir.

He crossed the living room and made his way carefully to the front door, all the while barely listening to Kevin.

"You're with her? What's that supposed to mean? You know what, never mind. I just want to know if she's okay, and maybe why she missed our date. This is her cell phone, right?" House could sense that Kevin was trying his very best to remain calm and diplomatic, not wanting to shatter his nice-guy façade. Having a new goal in mind, House pressed his advantage.

"Yeah, you've got the right number. It must have fallen out of her pocket when she was getting dressed. I heard it ringing, and answered it without thinking," he smiled at the scene he was creating for the other man. The questions that must have been rushing through Kevin's mind in that moment almost broke House's composure. What did he mean when she was dressing? Was he there for it? Why was he in her room, answering her phone, if it fell from her pocket, while she was changing?

"And she's okay?" Kevin asked again, sticking to his guns. House admired him for that.

"She has a bit of a cold, but nothing a bit of bed rest and a House call won't cure."

He appreciated his pun for a moment, listening to the silence as the double meaning sank in for Kevin.

"I see," the other man said, his voice subtly different. A bit thick, but that did not surprise House. After another beat, Kevin asked bluntly, "so she was with you, then?"

Here House realized he was walking into murky waters. He could tell the truth, and explain that he hadn't technically been inside her home when she stood Kevin up, and conveniently leave out the activities of the afternoon. Or he could lie, and imply that he had been with Cuddy all day, which would tell Kevin that the two doctors had slept together, in a different time frame and circumstances than what the truth actually dictated.

He chose a third option that struck him as the words were leaving his mouth, "I was here, yes."

"With her?"

"In a sense."

"I see."

"I don't think you do," House opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him. He decided to fill Kevin in, entirely, "I was with her, yes. After you two had your fight. I visited her, and things got wild. She kicked me out before you arrived, but I think by that time she realized her mistake. She was in the house when you got here, just hiding in the dark. From you. But you know what happened next? I rang the doorbell, and she let me in. So now I'm playing doctor to her cold, which she got when we went on our motorcycle ride together, after she made you believe she wasn't going to take a ride to work."

"So you think you've won," Kevin said, his tone clearly rattled as House relayed this information in his caustic, matter of fact way. House wished he could see the devastated, broken look on the other mans face.

They had been in an unspoken competition since the moment they had met. Their battles had been short, most of them fought through guerilla tactics and behind the others back, and this was the culmination of their war. House had all the points, already having the spoils of war in his possession. There was nothing more for Kevin to use as ammunition. Cuddy had forced him into a corner, sealing House's claim to victory.

House grinned into the phone, "Yeah, pretty much. But, you know, a sensitive guy like you should realize that she isn't just some trophy."

"Say the pot to the kettle."

"Jealousy suits you. It's a much nicer tone than that fake, wimpy Pillsbury Dough boy routine you try to pull."

"I'm not jealous," Kevin said, his voice carrying his shrug flawlessly. House tensed, finding no reason not to believe him and not knowing how to react to that, "not of whatever it is you think you have with Lisa. I knew she was hung up on you, and I'm ready to give her all the time and space she needs. If that means she wants to have a couple of throws at you, that's fine, because in the end she's going to realize that you're nothing but a vicious, egocentric ass hole who has nothing to offer her. You can't care about her, and she deserves that from a relationship. She'll come back to me, because you're going to let her down. And when you hurt her, I'm going to come after you."

House did not like the way this conversation had turned, nor did he much enjoy being on the receiving end of a verbal beating. He leaned back against the door, looking nonchalant for an invisible audience as he attempted to translate that attitude into his response. Kevin's words resonated with him because they were the literal manifestation of the doubts that were still plaguing him.

"I'm not going to hurt her, and even if I do, you won't have a say in it. You won't even know. There's no place for you in her life. You're not the right kind of guy for her, and we all see it. You know it, that's why you're desperately clinging to this fantasy that she'll come crawling back to you. She's not the kind of woman who would crawl back to anyone, least of all a push over like you. And, honestly, how heartless can you be? Threatening a crippled man. That's not very nice-guy-y of you."

"Well, maybe I'm not a nice guy to people who pretty much beg for everyone around them to hate them."

"You know someone like that?"

"I know someone like that."

House grinned, "Really? Because from the way she was moaning earlier, I'd say Lisa thinks you can't possibly be talking about me."

"How you act around Lisa, and the person you really are have no bearing on each other. She brings out the best in everybody, even a rat like you. But the thing is, that kind of radiance deserves to be loved. And you can't love her."

Kevin hung up.

House closed the cell phone, victorious and proud. He looked around, taking a breath of fresh air. The sky was over cast, clearly on the verge of another down pour, no stars or moon to be seen. The sun was setting behind the shroud, indistinct and blurry, its filtered rays casting a gloomy orange glow over the sidewalk. Stretching, House put the phone on silent and then slipped it into his pocket, taking his cane and heading back inside. The door slid closed behind him with a light click, the lock turning into place with a similar sound.

Cuddy had made herself more comfortable on the sofa, her legs curled close to her body, the blanket clasped in her hand, pulled up to her chin. Her feet were uncovered, poking out at the bottom, a sight that made House smile. He imagined walking in on more sights like this, regularly, and felt a very unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and completely wonderful tug at his heart. It was nice to be reminded that he had one.

And that she was the one to remind him.

"I think I could love you," he said to her as she dozed, in response to Kevin's assertion. He set, painfully, on the floor beside her. It took a while, his leg angry with him for going so long without any sort of pain killer, but he managed to get into a reasonably comfortable position next to her, angled in such a way that he could kiss her on her lips, which were slightly pouted in her dream, as if waiting for him to do exactly that. There was no resisting.

She opened her eyes, a smile that could make a lesser man weep gracing her beautiful, sleepy face. He put his hand to her cheek, tenderly, glad to feel that her fever had gone down. She put her hand over his, keeping it in place as she turned her face and kissed his palm.

"Did you say something?" She asked, sitting up. She patted the sofa, knowing House must not have been comfortable on the floor and wanting him a bit closer to her. He listened, struggling to reclaim his place on the sofa. She surprised him by standing, and beckoning him to stretch out, as she had been. He did so. She then joined him, lying down in front of him, her body pressed against his. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close, kissing her neck and breathing her in.

"No."

"Where did you go?"

House sighed, the phone in his pocket digging into his leg as if it were his conscience, ordering him to tell her about the conversation he had with Kevin. Instead he contented himself with nibbling on her neck, his hands exploring inside her sweater, making her purr and move against him encouragingly.

"No where," it was kind of true, anyway. He had been standing just outside her front door. And she hadn't asked him what he was doing out there. They could talk about Kevin and his angry words later, when she didn't taste so good, and when her body didn't fit so perfectly against his.

He had the feeling that they wouldn't be talking about anything for a good long time.


	10. Chapter 10: No Strings Attached

**Sorry I've been so long away! I hope you guys are still with me! Hahaha. If you're not, I completely understand. I took my sweet time in getting back to this story, after finals last term, Spring Break and the start of this term. **

**I've decided to keep this fic entirely Huddy oriented, so if you want to see some Wilson, Chase, Cameron or Foreman you'll have to wait until I start the All Cast story I've got buzzing about my skull.**

**Of course, that one will have Huddy, too. -shifty eyes-**

**Alrighty, read and review! Let me know if I've been away -too- long. **

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**No Strings Attached**

He liked the way she smelled in the morning. Her scent, the lingering perfume of her shampoo and soap mixed with the tacky, almost musky fragrance of the previous day's activities. He could smell himself on her, a new and intoxicating aroma. It completed her allure entirely: not that he was a part of her there was no stepping back. He wanted to wake up with her in his arms each morning, this smell their shared cologne, their bed one and the same. For a while he simply rested with her, feigning sleep, focusing on the way her unconscious breathing regulated itself to his heartbeat.

At length he opened his eyes and let the first sight of the morning be the subtle curve of her shoulder. It was soft, seeming to glow in the early morning haze that filtered in through the window. He, pulled by an uncompromising magnetism, pressed his lips to that tender, gently warm skin, following the line of her shoulder blade with a trail of kisses to the hollow of her neck that the position of her head on the pillow created. He felt her hum of pleasure against his lips, and it made him grin. He held her closer, protective as much as possessive, and she rolled in his grip to face him.

She, for one tantalizing moment, lingered in the boundaryless closeness her change of position had left them in. Their faces were level, their noses touching, their lips where House believed they should be more often: perfectly poised for a kiss. Under the sheets, he felt her slip her arms around the thickness of his upper chest, one of her legs finding a home in his, her ankle hugged by his calves.

He moved to kiss her, a very slight forward motion of his head, but she blocked his attempt by pecking his lips lightly once, then pulling away. They were still facing each other, but now inches, not breaths, separated them. Drawing a deep breath one that made House sigh vicariously, Cuddy smiled at her lover playfully.

"Now how did I get here?"

House walked his fingers along her spine with his upper hand, the lower pinned under her light body, his hand eventually finding her hair to nestle in. He massaged her neck, reveling in the way her hair excited and tickled the back of his hand. He returned her playful look, his slightly challenging, his voice proud and confident, "what can I say?"

"You got me drunk?" she offered. The way her nose wrinkled disdainfully did more to make him laugh than the comment.

"You were fully aware of your actions, and completely consensual. It's not my fault you can't resist me," House said in a voice under oath. Then, with condescension, added, "it's a two way street, Lisa."

Cuddy chuckled, amused by how natural the whole situation felt. The pointless, silence filling banter was ever present, a staple of their relationship regardless of setting. It felt just as right in her office, her yelling at him as his boss, as it did in her bedroom, their bodies entwined.

She closed her eyes and let him move over her. It was not a sexual advance, both still recovering from their afternoon together and the subsequent night in her bed, but for Cuddy it was no less enjoyable. His long pianist's fingers played over her body, tasting her curves, exploring her as he made himself familiar with every tender spot, his favorites the ones that made her moan. He allowed his lips to join the game, their focus the fine lines of her eyelids, her high, enticing cheek bones, the strong lines of nose and chin, as well as the arch of her slightly fevered forehead. He came to abrupt stop, looking down into her breath taking eyes. The annoyance at the interruption, the understanding of what caused it, and the ferocity of her impatience broke his attempt at being serious.

"You going to work today," he endeavored.

"Of course," she took the pause as her cue to escape him, the clock on her nightstand telling her she might as well start getting ready for the day. House did not relent, his arms an effective cage. She relaxed on her back, staring up at him with an order in her eyes, the way she often looked at him at work. Even this familiar expression was new and enrapturing for House, who delighted in seeing it and did nothing in reply, "I don't even feel sick. The fever will just wear itself out."

For a while his eyes stayed locked on hers, and she knew her comments were useless. They lapsed into silence, their wills, rather than their words, battling for control of the situation. His gaze wavered, journeying down from her face, and she became very aware of how naked they were. There was no way to hide from him, the sheets tented over his back, but she had no desire to. Her eyes flashed, though he missed it in his distraction, and she quickly devised an escape plan.

Leaning up to him suddenly, she took his face into her hands and pulled him into a long, deep kiss. Whether he fell for it or let her think he had, just to participate, her ploy worked. He relaxed on top of her, his hands finding a new, appropriate home for the duration of her fit of passion over her breasts. She stayed a moment longer than she wanted to, then broke away from their contact. The jolt of their disconnection affected both of them, but neither said a word.

House watched her cross the room, raw and erotic in her bold nakedness. If she had any sort of shyness of modesty about her body she did not let him see it. Her confidence and, inexplicably, her intelligence seemed to radiate from her fully exposed form, propounding the fact that house never doubted: she was a match for him. He could see everything about her in that one moment, and took his time drinking it in. Staring at her unabashedly, he imagined that this was the physical manifestation of all the differences that made them, House and Cuddy, the only two people who could ever be perfect for one another.

"When are you on?" Cuddy asked, not realizing House could not hear her.

Her body was smooth and flawless, her skin lustrous, her hair thick and soft. Her body was tight and finely toned, her arms long and her hands showing no sign of the years of abuse they received from medical and paper work. Her legs were contoured dangerously, making him hiss a breath out through his teeth as he examined them. There was something about the way her bare feet looked against the carpet of her bedroom that made House nervous. It was a strange thing to focus on, considering her lack of clothes, but he could not shake the fact that he rarely saw her bare feet, and having them now before him, the toes kneading the carpet nervously, made him wonder just how far they had come.

He stood, wanting to go to her, but resisted his impulse as she looked at him curiously. He had leapt a bit too quickly, resulting in a painful scramble as he stooped to brace himself on the edge of the bed. His leg seared bitterly, reminding him that he had been too long without his other addiction. Cuddy, drawing her bathrobe, an article of clothing House now considered a friend, around her, went to her purse and produced a bottle of pills. She returned to him before he could even locate his jacket, proffering the bottle with a slightly raised eyebrow, clearly hearing House's next question in her mind before he opened his mouth.

"You keep vicodin for me?" his voice broke, and he chocked on his words. He bit his lower lip, as if his emotions were just too much, forcing his chin into a quiver that made Cuddy roll her eyes. She knew he was just teasing her, and did not grant him a response. Disappointed, but not completely deterred, House put his comments on the back burner as he opened the bottle and popped a pill.

Cuddy took the opportunity to examine him, much as he had done her. His body was grizzled and rough, but virile and chiseled. He wasn't overly muscular, but the strong angles of his body distributed his weight in an appealing, aesthetically pleasing way. His hands captivated her, as they always did, the fingers long and individually clever. She barely registered the scar on his leg, seeing now without the surprise of when he dropped his pants so long ago in her office. There was nothing scary or ugly about it, to her, though, she knew she should harbor some bitterness towards it for causing him so much pain. He turned away from her, on purpose she supposed, and she let herself admire his backside.

She liked what she saw.

"That's right," House said, casting a glance over his shoulder to catch the half grin Cuddy could not wipe away fast enough, "take it all in."

"Put something on, House," she said, her words laughing without her permission.

"I need to shower. Care to join me?"

"No."

House frowned, half expecting her to honestly bat the idea around, instead of shooting him down so thoroughly. He snorted through his nose, indignant, and limped his way to the bathroom. He did not ask after a towel or supplies, leaving Cuddy to wonder what state her bathroom was going to be in once he was finished. Safely alone, she allowed herself a very fond smile, hugging herself just to make sure she wasn't in a dream or, as she nearly feared, a nightmare.

Getting fresh, work appropriate clothes from the correct cabinets around her room, Cuddy reflected on the evening. After falling to sleep with him on the sofa she had awoken to a dark, peaceful home. He was holding on to her like he was afraid to lose her, not just because she was teetering precariously on the edge of the sofa, but for a reason he kept to himself. She hadn't woken him, simply remaining in his grasp, listening to the way his breathing somehow managed to echo the slow, comfortable beat of her heart.

Somehow, after he had stirred, they ended up in the bedroom. She sat down on the messy sheets of her bed, a dopey, distracted smile on her face as she blushed and thought back on their night together. House's voice snapped her out of her trance.

He grinned, unable to resist, "Dreaming about me again?"

She averted her eyes, admitting her shame without a chance to stop herself. Caught in a double take, she looked back at him, noting that he was wearing a towel around his waist but was not yet wet. She tilted her head, simply waiting for his explanation.

"I'm waiting for you to join me."

"I told you no," she reminded him, standing and motioning to her clothes, "I'm fully dressed."

House advanced towards her, limping without his cane yet maintaining an appropriate saunter, causing both of them to grin naughtily, "I can easily remedy that."

She ducked away from him, side stepping and using the speed advantage that comes with two legs against him. He turned, looking disappointed, his lips drawn into a taut, thin line. She shrugged harmlessly, pretending to ignore him by retrieving her comb and brushing her hair. He sighed, defeated, and returned to the bathroom to take his lonely shower.

Cuddy finished getting ready, venturing into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. He tried everything he could think of to get her into the shower with him, some tactics less tasteful than others, but nothing proved effective. Soon enough he grew tired of waiting in the water for her, and emerged into the living room dressed in the clothes he had worn the day before. Cuddy looked at him, smiling at his hair. It was messy, still damp despite a good toweling, sticking out in random directions. He noticed her silent mockery, but resisted the impulse to run his hand through his hair. If she wanted to laugh at him, he would let her. Eventually, he would have his revenge for so small a slight. There was, after all, a long day at work ahead of them.

After declining an offer of breakfast, House made ready to leave. Cuddy informed him that she planned on driving in to work on her own today, and that he could come on his bike later. He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, and she pointed at his wrinkled, disheveled clothes.

"You'd better go to your place and change before coming into work, don't you think?"

"But then people wouldn't know I spent the night at someone else's place, nor would they assume that I had sex with anyone. If I go to work like this, mere moments behind you, everyone will think exactly what I want them too. I like it when I can control people's thoughts. Makes me feel like a puppet master."

"No, House," Cuddy said sternly, eyes blazing with conviction, "I don't want the hospital to buzz with some unflattering rumor. If you want to be a couple at the hospital, fine, but I will not be your sex buddy, or your booty call. I don't want my reputation in the hospital smeared just because you think it would be funny making every one think I'm easy."

"To be fair-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Cuddy shoved by him, almost making him lose grip on his cane, and went to the front door. She held it open expectantly, forcing him out with her withering gaze so she could lock it behind them. House stood absurdly near to her, her elbow poking his stomach as she tried to work the key in the lock. She shoved her elbow back, a less than friendly warning that she was not in the mood to deal with his toying around.

"There is no need to get abusive," House said casually, making his way down the walk. Looking up, he noted that the sky had not cleared through the night, and now looked to be on the verge of a storm. The sight brought a fire to his chest, and chuckle to his throat that he could not place. Shifting his gaze back to Cuddy, he watched her open the garage door, the touch of a button revealing her car, and sighed. He had a feeling that pestering her until she got on his bike with him would be about as effective and satisfying as their shower together.

He smirked at her enigmatically, making the muscles in her neck and stomach tighten nervously. Whatever he was planning, she already did not approve.

"I'll see you at work in an hour, then, Doctor Cuddy."


	11. Chapter 11: Hit the Floor

**Okay, here's chapter eleven! The first of a three part arch, I think. This is Cuddy's POV. There's going to be the same situation from House and, I think, from Wilson and the ducklings. Sound good?**

** Let me know what you think of this chapter!  
**

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**Hit the Floor**

The hospital was buzzing when the Dean of Medicine walked through the front door. She did her best to be annoyed and uncomfortable as the whispers followed the footsteps of her shadows, feigning embarrassment and confusion. The longer she maintained this air, innocent and abused, the softer the hushed conversations became. Through her seemingly oblivious nature she led the nurses and staff to doubt the credibility they had given their carefully pulled together scenarios.

Hospitals, particularly through nurses and secretaries, were breeding grounds for wild fantasies and stories. Rumors spread with a speed unrivaled by any strain of disease, often more virulent than every illness that entered from outside. Every diagnosed rumor had its own set of symptoms. The epidemic of 'Where Did Doctor House Go Yesterday' her yet to be cured, the differential breaking it down into very specific facts rather than a cohesive prognosis.

Lisa Cuddy had not been working the day before. Gregory House had vanished for most of the day, returning in strange moods. It was not enough for a complete analysis, and there would have to be more tests. The hospital staff that had invested itself in this case waited with mounting anxiety for the arrival of their patients. When Doctor Cuddy arrived alone, battling a cold, and Doctor House failed to arrive within a half hour, the rumor began to lose its romantic steam.

The whispers shifted focus. Maybe House and Cuddy had not spent the afternoon and, more tantalizing, night together. Maybe Cuddy had been legitimately sick. Maybe House had simply been shirking off his clinic duties, because no one could tell him to do otherwise. Or maybe there was more to this situation than they saw on the surface.

Cuddy would be careful not to let them dig any deeper.

With a sigh, she shrugged her thick, drenched trench coat from her shoulders and hung it, along with a large, hook handled umbrella, on the coat rack just inside the doors to her office. It was pouring down with rain, thunder rumbling angrily behind dense black clouds. There was no sun in the sky. In fact, as she stared out through her window and observed from the warmth and shelter of her office, there was no _sky_ in the sky. From horizon to horizon it was grey, mottled from smoky to chromo to almost onyx. It was ugly and foreboding, with torrential rain, the constant threat of hail, and winds that threatened to bend parking meters.

Trying her best not to sneeze, denying the existence of the stubborn cold for much less her own sake than a person who wasn't even in the room, Cuddy sank into her chair and pulled herself up to her desk. Trusty pen in hand, detaching herself from every aspect of her personal life, she got back into the character of Hospital Administrator, easily slipping into the menial-yet-important paperwork before her.

Her pager rumbled against her belt, chiming with obnoxious urgency. She looked down, frowned at the message and number that glowed up at her, and then looked at the clock. Two hours had some how escaped in, to her perception, the span of ten minutes worth of work. Sliding the pager into her pocket, too distracted to fumble with clipping it back to her belt. The depth of her mental abstraction troubled her.

Standing, she grabbed her white lab coat and moved to the door. Her cell phone rang, forcing her to pause and answer it. She leaned in the doorway, her hand hesitating as she glanced at the incoming call display, not following through with the usual wrist flip to open the phone. At her side, her pager beeped. She felt as if she had stumbled into an absurd portrait of her life, this one snap shot an ironic, comedic, dismaying, perfect representation of the chaos she had allowed her personal relationships to degrade to.

She had Kevin in the palm of her hand, and House in her pants.

She put the phone, unanswered, into a pocket on her lab coat while, with her other hand, pressing a button on the pager to silence it. With a self deprecating scoff, she made her way to the clinic, finding the room House had summoned her to. She justified her haste with thoughts of professionalism. House needed a consult, and she was obligated to respond.

It did not surprise her to find House sitting alone in the exam room, tapping his cane against his shoe. Cuddy closed the door behind her, leaning back on it and tilting her head at him.

"No patient, huh?"

"Actually, yes," House stood, watching her. She tried to press further back against the door, but physical laws prevented her from occupying the same space and thus made it impossible for her to shrink away. He limped towards her, reaching forward with an aggressive look in his eye. He put his hand to her forehead and she flinched, her throat releasing a sound that told him she had been expecting this, and was not too thrilled, "fever. Glassy eyes. Flushed face."

He put his hands under her chin, then, after feeling for inflammation in her throat, he let his thumbs guide the tip of her chin down, opening her mouth. Without using a light, he examined her throat, tapping the bottom of her chin to indicate he was finished. She snapped her mouth shut, looking at him with annoyance and impatience bubbling just behind her composure.

"Sore throat? Are you dizzy or nauseous?" He asked, moving away from her. She let him leave, knowing he wanted her to follow him and allow him to continue his examination but not giving him the satisfaction.

"I wonder if you're this attentive to all your patients? Or am I special because I make your pants tighter?"

He looked at her in shock, glancing around the room as if he suspected spies or ninjas lurking in every corner. He rushed back to her, putting his hand over her mouth and leaning down so that his mouth was by her ear. She did not struggle against him. He was playing yet another game, but he would grow bored soon enough. He kept his hand over her mouth, not effectively enough if he truly wanted to keep her from speaking, and looked into her eyes.

"We're not allowed to talk about that."

Cuddy gave him a sharp look, taking her foot and grinding the heel of her shoe into his foot. He yelped, this time honestly surprised, and she turned her back to him, pressing one hand against the door with the other on the knob. House reached around her and wrapped his hand around the doorknob, completely covering hers, and pulled the door shut once more. It slammed and Cuddy jerked back, half turning to yell at him. She felt his other hand heavy on her shoulder, wondered where his cane had gotten to, and did not stop him as he completed her turn of her. She met his lips with her own, arms instinctively around his neck, one leg bent at the knee, the foot against the door.

For a moment she gave herself to him, but the reality of their setting never left her. She opened her eyes, took in the exam room around them, and pushed him back. He hobbled and recovered his cane from the wall against which it was leaning, centering it in front of him and leaning his weight on it. He arched an eyebrow at her.

She nodded her head at the door, "someone must have heard that."

"Afraid someone might join us?" House moved to the examination table, the sanitary paper crinkling in a familiar song as he sat on it. He looked passively devilish, "that might be interesting, if it was someone adventurous. And fun to look at."

Ignoring the flash of a scene as personal and intimate as three people could get, a scene she did not doubt House was sharing with two of the same players and the third entirely different, Cuddy let out an angry sigh, "Damn it, House. People saw me come in here. They're going to see me leave. They're going to see you leave. What they're not going to see is a patient. I came in this morning to people whispering about us. This really isn't going to help."

"So what? I hate to be the one to break this to you, but people around here are always talking about you. And me. And, yes, you and me."

"Yes, I know that, but…" she ran a hand through her hair, unable to resist the naughty smile that curled the corners of her lips, despite how mad she felt, "but now it's _true_."

She opened the door, irritated and needing an escape, and listened to the familiar rhythm of House's unique footsteps as he hurried to catch up to her. To spite her, and for nothing else, he hooked his arm in hers, bringing her to a halt near the front desk. She turned to face him, as he did her, the two locked in a face off. He kept his hand on her arm.

"So what," he said loudly, "you're just going to pretend it didn't happen?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, scowling indignantly. There was suddenly a role she had to play. Dozens of pairs of eyes now fell on the pair; House's perfectly chosen words exciting numerous levels of interest in the each observer. She was now bound to treat him as she always did, fighting the desire to answer him with cutting honesty.

"Yes. Now just let me get back to work, House. I can't look at you; it hurts too much," she spoke without inflection, clearly mocking him. Disappointed sighs and grumbles filled the air, relaxing her. She watched House impassively. Playing with him was dangerous. Particularly now: no one could see it, but House and Cuddy were playing an entirely new game, and neither knew the rules. Even so, Cuddy soon became sure that House, with his next more, was cheating.

He pulled her to him, hugging her to him as he bowed his head and spoke into her ear, "what difference will it make?" Then he raised his voice, making her wince, "it's not just sex to me!"

The clinic was never quiet. There was always life, movement, and chaos. In that moment, however, it was pin-drop-might-shatter-glass silent.

Cuddy recovered quickly, but it was not of her own doing. Her thought process ground to a halt, her emergency, Back-Up Cuddy kicking into gear as Main Cuddy shut down. Back-Up Cuddy was kept around in the recesses of her mind for comfort and obligation. Like a fire extinguisher encased in glass, or an extra first aid kit under the sink. It was a 'just in case' mechanism, though, it was not enough to fully handle the problems presented to it. She looked at him as if he had just pulled one of his every day insurrections, rather than announcing their bedroom matters to the hospital.

"That's enough, House. You always manage to find the line, then leap across it. Which is strange, considering canes don't usually denote long jumpers. Maybe you vault. In any case, give it a rest, and get back to work. Only call me down here for emergencies. Is that clear?"

House watched her, tight lipped, and nodded slowly. She didn't see it, walking away as quickly and with as much pride as her body could muster. She shut her ears to the sounds around her, to block out murmurs and anything House might call after her. Back-Up Cuddy, her job complete, was quickly vanishing, leaving only vulnerability and incomprehensible anger in her wake.

She reached her office without incident, which was lucky for everyone. If some poor soul had interrupted her path, she would have brought the wrath of a woman scorned unto them. She had not yet come to terms with this unbridled rage, feeling dangerous and volatile, a volcano in high heels. Closing her door behind her with pointed deliberateness, she tore off her lab coat and let it fall to the floor. A soft thud reminded her, with a jolting shift in emotion, that Kevin had called.

Still not paying any real thought to the explanation and depth behind her anger, though not so oblivious that she couldn't make a guess, she stooped and retrieved her phone, leaving the coat where it had fallen, and then retreated to the sofa. Reclining comfortably, her heart racing and her mind forcibly blank, she flipped the phone open and called her voice mail.

He had left her a short, simple message: "Call me back."

And she did.

Listening to the phone ring, she collected herself. The embarrassment subsided. The strange rush of shame faded away. Even some of the malevolence House had inspired in her retreated. Her rational mind tried to sooth her: he's House. Everyone thinks he's just being House. He did it to prove a point. You shouldn't let him bother you. No one knows. No one has to know if you don't want them to.

_But why don't I want them to?_

She shuddered, shutting her eyes as tightly as she could. The phone clicked, and Kevin's voice snapped her eyes open.

"Kevin. It's… It's Lisa."

"I know. Caller ID," there was a slight laugh in his voice, but the precariousness of the situation did not allow him to be playful, "how are you?"

"I'm… I'm fine. You did see me yesterday, you know." She tightened her fist, an involuntary response to her idiotic decision to mention the previous day so quickly and casually. It was the first thing they both wanted to speak about, but the last either wanted to bring up. She had unwittingly taken the responsibility, and it troubled her. She did not know just how deeply she would be able to discuss things with him.

"I know. But… House said you were not well…"

"House said? You spoke to him?"

" I didn't think he'd tell you. Lisa, listen. I have to say this. And you know how bad I am with talking, so I'm just going to keep going until it's all out, okay?" Cuddy didn't bother answering, feeling he wouldn't wait long enough for an answer. She was wrong, but it mattered very little. After an awkward silence he pushed on, "He's no good for you, Lisa. And I know I must not be, either, if you don't want to be with me, and I completely understand that. But I have so much respect and love for you, I don't want to see you with someone who can't be what you want. Even if I can't, I know there has to be someone out there who can. And I am absolutely positive it's not House."

"You barely know him…" she breathed, a pathetic attempt at protest.

"I know," he barreled on, politely acknowledging her even though he had said he wouldn't, simply because it was not in his nature to talk over someone, "and I know it sounds like I'm just talking out of my ass here. But I believe it. I've seen bad relationships, Lisa. I was a cop, remember? I've seen what people do to each other, and I know what incompatibility is. Domestic calls are always the worst, because you just don't know what you're going to see. I saw the worst of what love has to offer. People forcing themselves on each other, because at one time it felt right, beating each other. Hurting each other. I don't want him to hurt you."

"Why do you think he will?" She was struggling to find words, her throat tight and her mind foggy, as if blinded by the tears that stung her eyes.

"Do you think he won't? Look at the kind of man he is. He's angry, addicted to pills. He has no respect for you or your authority. He loves your body, he loves your tenacity and your strength. But do you really think he loves you? I'm sorry, but I can't see that much depth in him. He's shallow. He's intense and captivating, because he's damaged and you need to fix him, but he's not going to give you the kind of relationship you want. He's not… to put it really simply… he's not capable of romance."

Cuddy forced a hum that sounded something like an indication for him to continue.

"Lisa, I'm so sorry. You're crying. I didn't want this to happen. I really didn't. I actually wanted to apologize. I thought maybe House would have told you we spoke on the phone. I was calling to speak to you, but he answered and he baited me. I said some things… I didn't want you to think… I'm so sorry."

Despite herself, emotionally ravaged, Cuddy laughed. She felt, through the phone line, impalpably yet unmistakably that he grew tense at the sound of her voice. It was a sorrowful, haunting laugh, that held more meaning than he could discern. Rubbing her eyes, she sighed into the phone.

"Don't apologize, Kevin," she said at length, her voice stronger than she had imagined it could be, "you're always apologizing. Tip-toeing around the important issues. You're such a sweet, tender guy, and I really do love that about you. I keep hearing from people what I want in men, and I always find myself agreeing with them. But that's where it gets confusing, because how can I possibly agree with you and House at the same time? If I could just answer that, I'd be able to find the man I am clearly destined to be with. But that's not how love, relationships, or life in general work. And we both know it. I need to follow this through, Kevin, and I'm so sorry you got hurt in the process. I just… I don't need someone who will agree with everything I say, and listen to my every order. I'm bossy, it's in the job description. You… you never fought me on anything."

"You're breaking up with me because I never argued with you?"

"Something like that, yes. Maybe, if I figure this all out, you'll be right in the end. And I'll regret losing you. But that will be my decision. I have to see this through. I have to. I've never felt… I don't even know what I'm feeling, but it's him. It's House and I have to be with him."

Kevin was silent for a moment, his breathing slow and contemplative. She heard the nod in his tone, "I understand. But… you haven't lost me yet. I'll, you know, hang around for a little while. No dates. If you do figure it out, just give me a call. For better or worse, at the very least I'll get to hear your voice again. I'll let you go now. I know you're at the hospital at this hour. I still love you, Leese."

"Goodbye, Kev."

She waited for him to hang up, then closed her phone. For a long, timeless moment she stared at the floor, at her coat that was splayed on the carpet, lost in thoughts with no voice. She watched as the coat left the ground, the strangeness of an inanimate object in motion jarring her from her wanderings. House was watching her, his expression uncommunicative. With creeping worry, she realized she had no idea how long he had been standing there. Still, she made no motion to welcome him, her own face a mirror of his. He moved to her, draping the coat over the edge of the chair with an almost loving gentleness.

"Cuddy…" He said, his voice low and burdened, "you're crying."

He sat beside her, brushing away the tears with the thumb of his hand, his long fingers spreading warmth through her cheeks. She closed her eyes at the touch, which only brought forth more tears. He drew her face tenderly towards him, kissing her softly. She let him, detached for a moment, as if watching from outside her body. She liked what she saw, and his irresistible magnetism drew her in further. She kissed him back, with mounting passion, which he met step by step with his own intensity and yearning. Soon she was on her back, him bearing down on her, their breathing ragged and their sense devoted entirely to each other. His hand was on her shirt, and she started. She pushed her hands up into his shoulders, shoving him off her. Surprised, completely taken aback by the force she used, he gaped at her wordlessly.

"No, House, I can't. This can't just be… this can't be all there is?"

"What, Lisa? What is this?"

She stared at him, directly into his sharp, intelligent, devastating blue eyes, and knew he had no idea what she was talking about. Her breath left her completely, leaving her feeling dizzy, almost to the point where she thought she might faint. His hand was under her head, supporting her, as if he could see that weakness. And maybe he could. His eyes, in that moment, revealed far more than any formation of words possibly could. She saw in them his injuries, his pain, his addiction, his desire. She saw the bad in him, the devious and the cruel. She saw his good, the passion and conviction. She saw herself in his eyes, reflected back in a pool of pure emotion, deep as an ocean and vast as the ethereal heavens. His eyes were fathomless, beyond anything she dared try to understand. He was broken, miserable, compassionate, and completely in love.

She, trembling, rolled from the sofa and climbed to her feet. She found support in the edge of the desk, leaning on it and regaining herself before looking back at him. He was staring at her, intrigued and waiting.

"This is more than just sex to me."


	12. Chapter 12: Beautiful Disaster

**Changed my mind about the arc thing. Decided I hated writing as other people beyond House and Cuddy, and was thus killing their characters. Maybe in a non-Huddy oriented story they would work better. **

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**Beautiful Disaster**

He could not tell if she was playing with him or not, hearing his own mocking words, even his own tone, wrapped in tear choked defiance. Listening to her, his shoulders throbbing from the force she had shoved him back with, it wasn't too difficult for him to find his answer. He picked his cane up off the floor and followed her. She was leaning on the corner of her desk, looking faint. There was no witty return in his mind. He had no will to tease her. There was vulnerability in the way she stood, the slump of her shoulders and back, the color in her face and the way her body trembled that shifted his gears for him. All he wanted to do was hold her.

Slipping his arms around her, over her elbows so she couldn't push him away, he drew her center of gravity away from the desk so she was leaning on him. She turned in his embrace, letting her cheek rest against his chest, letting her arms dangle at her side. She was completely limp and non-responsive in his arms, breathing deeply and shaking. He kissed the top of her head, leaving his chin in her hair, hugging her until he thought his shoulders might pop.

It seemed the perfect solution. He was now her strength, her support. He straightened her slump, easing the weight from her shoulders. His warmth brought a radiant blush to her face, restoring her wan cheeks to color. The sturdiness of his embrace eased her trembling, and provided her with a safety net. They stood that way for a while, perfectly balanced in spite of their individual weaknesses, each the others cane.

"I think I have the flu," Cuddy said at length.

"You better not throw up on me," he took a step back, breaking their embrace, examining her face. He smiled at her, holding her face in his hands, recognizing his look in her eyes, "maybe we should call in sick?"

She placed her hands over his, easing them down from her chin. House sighed, exasperated, already knowing where this was going. Cuddy moved away from him, handing him his cane, though he wasn't sure how she got it, before taking a seat on the front of her desk. House remained where she left him, leaning on his cane.

"Kevin called me."

"He… did?" House ventured carefully, the fact that he had been wrong in his guess of conversation topic proven in three words. He watched her keenly, imaging that his comment would have made her remember his embarrassing game in the clinic, and thus send her into a tirade about his unprofessional conduct and impersonal approach to their relationship. Kevin had not entered his thoughts.

"Before I went to the clinic," she sighed, and he saw her countenance change. She was beautiful, as he always found her, but there was a new, subtle radiance to her that he could not define. It was confidence and confliction, sorrow and joy, hesitance and decision all in one. She was as complicated as he was, fascinating and challenging. He knew he didn't want to fix her, he didn't even want to try. He wanted to explore her, every facet, every intricacy. She leaned back on her arms, not looking at him, "before you pulled that stunt. I called him back after. He explained to me all the ways you suck at being a boyfriend, and how I won't find what I need in you. Which is contradictory to what you told me I'm looking for."

"Who are you going to believe? I've got years on him," he said casually.

Kevin calling her and telling her what she needed, and worse, what House could not supply for her was infuriating. The conversation between himself and Kevin played back in his mind. House wasn't good for her. House didn't know how to love her. Like Kevin had this amazing insight into her soul, just because he lit a candle for her, and bought her flowers. Anger brewed in the pit of his stomach, stirring him and causing him to fidget.

What truly bothered him was not that Kevin was making assumptions about Cuddy, consenting that their intimacy may have opened a door of trust between them, but that he dared to draw conclusions about House. It was blind, hypocritical rage. Generally, House worked hard to force people to make their own choices about him, decide who he was and what he was about for themselves. He liked being enigmatic, because he needed the people around him to be constantly thinking. It was the only way he could bear company, through manipulation and design. What Kevin was doing was entirely different.

Kevin had no basis for his condescension. They had never been on a date, House and Kevin, so how could he know anything about the romantic side of Gregory House?

As his eyes refocused from thought and he found Cuddy staring at him, he realized that she did not know that side of him, either. And neither did he.

"Are we going to talk about this?" She asked, flustered. He wondered how much she had said to him while he hadn't been listening.

"I called you to the clinic with every intention of letting the staff see us," he said abruptly, "why shouldn't we be what we are in front of an audience? They never stopped us before. So we prove them right. So we piss off a few people. That's an integral part of your job, anyway."

"What are we?"

"A torrid affair," House moved closer to her, until his legs met her knees as they rested bent over the edge of the desk. She, her tempting eyes locked on his, inescapable and clever, opened her legs and let her ankles wrap around the back of his legs. He hobbled forward until he couldn't anymore because of the desk. He put his cane to rest against the desk, freeing his hands to place them on her elbows, drawing her towards him and up until their noses almost touched, "we're two people who can't stay away from each other. We're the envy of every man and woman on this staff. We're their wildest fantasies. We're the story someone should write."

"So we're sex addicts?"

"I'm addicted to having sex with you, yes."

She tilted her head slightly, to accommodate his kiss without wholly initiating it. He lingered there, breathing her breath, tasting her scent, felling her pulse through the heat between them.

"You're proving him right," she said quietly, "but you're both so wrong."

He kissed her, devotedly, respectfully, lustfully, lovingly. She kissed him back, deserving, needing, begging, unrelenting. He drew a sharp breath between their lips and then, to her shock, lifted her from the desk. He held her, her legs still around his legs, his arms in a bear hug around her waist, their lips still searching each other. She marveled at his strength, mental and physical, to keep her suspended so long without support for his leg. It made her kiss him all the more passionately, emblazoned with all the emotional weight he was lifting from her.

When he set her on the floor he kept his forehead on hers, eyes closed, leg burning.

"Wanna make a bet?" He asked.

"No sex for a week?"

"Winner is whoever goes the longest without giving in. And if we both make it a week…"

"And we're still 'together', we'll have amazing celebratory sex." He loved the way she followed him without questions or needing an explanation.

"What if one of us fails?" He prompted, knowing the answer.

"Then the other gets whatever they want from the other."

He let her take a step back from him, once again accepting his cane from her. He grinned.

"This is probably the best bet to date."

"An ironic choice of words."

Cuddy returned to her chair behind her desk, kissing him on the cheek and shaking his hand to seal the bet before abandoning him. He noted that her zest and cunning had been restored, her sadness and doubt for the moment suspended. There was so much they had not said. He wanted to know what Kevin had to say about him, a transcript, to make his own conclusions about the other man. He knew she wanted deeper conversation about their conduct in the workplace. House took a seat on the sofa, ready to spend some time with her.

Neither said a word. Time passed and Cuddy worked, House reading files he stole from her desk when he occasionally went to visit her. She watched him approach each time, looking up from her papers, pen hanging in the middle of a word. He'd smile at her harmlessly, the same smile for the four times this occurred, and would kiss her; either on the forehead, the cheek. Then he would reach around her and steal a folder, discarding the boring one carelessly across her work area. She'd make things neat again, with some remark, and he would return to his sofa.

After an hour House got bored of reading and returned to her. She watched him approach, nodded as he tossed his last folder onto the paper she was reading, then looked up at him expectantly. He kissed her on the lips, making her hum contentedly. He then put his strong, rough hands on her shoulders, depositing his cane in her lap, and worked the tight muscles with his impressively talented fingers. She let her head drop back, resting on the back of her chair, smiling up at him. He looked down at her, as if irritated that she was making his task difficult by shifting her neck.

The look in her eye told him she was already cheating her way towards winning their bet. The fiendish, alluring grin in her eyes ensnared and aroused him, which was not fair. He doubted a similar look from him would have the same affect on her. Plus, he did not doubt that she was aware of the angle he was audience too, and the way the cut of her top was teasing him. It took all the self restraint he had to keep himself from sliding his hands down the soft skin of her shoulder and into that wide v-neck shirt. As if reading his thoughts, she put her hands over his, pretending that gravity was easy them both slightly down, craning her neck towards him. He bent down and kissed her lips, then adjusted his path and kissed her neck, then her shoulder, making room for his lips by pushing their hands towards his goal.

He then pulled away abruptly, scowling at her as he snatched the cane from her lap and crossed to the safety of his sofa. He flopped down on it, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing her a mean, predatory look.

"This is not the best bet to date," he said, grumpy even through her melodious, albeit taunting, laughter, "And you're not a good person."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

A move she instantly regretted as someone knocked on her door and eased it open, clearing their throat awkwardly as they poked their head in. Cuddy returned her tongue to its rightful hiding place behind her teeth, pursing her lips and looking slowly towards the door.

Two pairs of eyes met her, one belonging to an intimidated, but clearly amused Australian and the other attached to a young woman trying too hard to stay professional.

"Sorry to interrupt," Allison Cameron said tightly, jabbing her associate as he stifled a chuckle. The pretty brunette shook her head and then looked to House, "We were wondering where you went."

"Though," Robert Chase chimed, his accent ringing exuberantly, "it wasn't too difficult to track you down."

"We need you in the ICU. You abandoned us in the middle of a case," Cameron finished, working hard not to look at Cuddy. Chase, on the other hand, couldn't stop looking at the Dean of Medicine. He felt as if he had caught her doing something incredibly inappropriate. Which, as he and Cameron had been discussing on their way up, had felt like a very real possibility. This, however, had not been what he was expecting. And it was delightful.

"I did not abandon you," House grunted, getting to his feet, "I left you to do your job. I didn't think you would come crying to me after an hour. Separation anxiety? Can't be away from your daddy for too long, huh? Don't be sowwy, I'll come to help you tie youw shoes."

Cuddy bit her lower lip. Chase did the same. Cameron nodded and turned to leave, shoulder checking Chase as she did so. Grinning, Chase followed her. As House moved towards the door, he cast a glance back at Cuddy. The two younger doctors were waiting in the doorway, watching.

"Don't miss me too much," Cuddy said, smiling warmly.

"I'll try not to," House replied with the warmth of her smile in his voice. Grinning triumphantly, he limped towards his team, berating them as he passed them and led the way back to the ICU. Cuddy watched them go, taking the moment for private retribution by watching his finely shaped ass. She liked what she saw, though; she wouldn't be seeing much of it in the days to come.

She had a bet to win.


	13. Chapter 13: Settle for a Slowdown

**Heh. I don't have anything to say for this one. Thank you, everyone, for your continued support and reviews! It means a lot to me. I love reading what you guys have to say! I'm still in the process of editing this one, so you'll see some mistakes.  
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**Settle for a Slowdown**

"I don't know why you're mad at me," House was saying casually, "it's not like _I_ threw up on you."

Cuddy grunted inarticulately in reply. The weight of his body on her legs was distracting and not welcomed, causing pressure on her lower abdomen that she did not need. She was lounging on her back, her body draped over the cushions listlessly. Being in his apartment gave House the right to sit where ever her wanted: he chose her legs. He leaned back into the chair, putting his weight onto her legs with enough leverage to keep from hurting her. The sentimentality of the effort was meaningless, a wasted effort, to Cuddy.

"I didn't have to be there," she reminded him, her words slow and groaning. Her stomach grumbled, as if agreeing, "I'm changing my pager number."

Their day apart had not been so separated, due in large part to House and his quick paging finger and his need to keep her on her toes. It was an embittering comfort to find House unchanged in his schedule to annoy her. Even now, in the comfort of his home, he maintained the teasing nature of their relationship.

She glowered at him dangerously as he shifted to get more comfortable.

"I needed someone to distract him. When you walked in and captivated his attention with your beauty, you distracted him from revisiting his lunch on me."

One of the numerous tactics House had used throughout the day to keep her struggling and irritated was paging her for consults on obviously benign cases. The Endocrinologist was not needed by the Diagnostician to conclude a patient, indeed, had the sniffles. He took advantage of the fact that she was morally and contractually obligated to answer all of the pages she received. She ordered him not to summon her for anything less than an emergency. That had simply encouraged him to put '911' tags on his pages.

Their shifts, through no fore planning on their parts, had ended at the same time. The last case House forced them to share was a middle aged man with food poisoning. House, knowing Cuddy was almost out the door, had called her for one last annoyance before signing out. The patient surprised them both by vomiting, though; only Cuddy had found herself in the line of fire. The smell triggered a psychosomatic reaction in her, her suppressed and largely ignored Flu symptoms suddenly roaring to life. She managed to make it to the sink, a few short yet epic steps away from the examination table, before her own stomach forced its contents up her throat. After that the Dean of Medicine had very little to say to her employee, leaving him to manage the rest of the case for himself. They left together, as they often did, no one but two young doctors paying them any mind.

"All right," Cuddy pulled at her legs in an effort to free herself, jerking suddenly as if to knock him off the sofa. It would not have triggered any guilt in her had she succeeded, "get up. I need to wash this smell off."

Be the door there sat a duffle bag with a change of clothes, toiletries, and some other personal affects from Cuddy's home. Beside it was another duffle bag, this one holding a change of clothes, toiletries, and various other personal affects from House's apartment. Both had gone to work carrying the idea that they might not return to their own places. There was no verbal discussion that led them to decide on House's home, but there they had ended up, and there they were happy to stay.

"If you mean a shower, I'm afraid mine is a bit complicated t use. I'll have to show you."

"Fine. Get it running for me. I like it hot."

"I bet you do," House looked down at her keenly, his eyes searching her body almost accusingly, "unfortunately, the shower gets water everywhere if you open the curtain while the water is running."

"Then I suppose I'll just have to fend for myself," Cuddy replied noncommittally, shrugging and sitting up. He looked at her, practically sitting on her lap, as impressed by her suggestion to shower alone as she was with his to join her. She knew exactly what he was trying to do, their morning together echoing in her mind, making her smile. Her expression caught him off guard, her sudden, honest display of affection for him ruining his attempt at sexual deviance, forcing him to realize that the bet they had so eagerly agreed upon was not as black and white as either had imagined. He moved in to kiss her, shifting his weight, but her words stopped him, continuing her conversation as if she did not notice him making a move on her, "or you'll just have a mess to clean up."

She escaped from him gracefully, using the slight freedom he gave her to slide her legs out from under him. She climbed effortlessly over the top of the sofa, as he could not do, standing facing him with the chair now between them. He stood, moving around the couch slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on her as if he expected her to scamper away. There was a tension between them that neither failed to recognize. House questioned the meaning of its being there, realizing with irritation that they had agreed to a full week of unrelenting torture.

The sexual tension between Doctor House and Doctor Cuddy was as much a recognizable part of their reputations as House's limp, cane and misanthropy, and Cuddy's hard lined approach to running the hospital. Their interaction constantly sparked rumors of a torrid affair. House often found himself listening at the nurse's stations, when they thought he was out of ear shot or not paying attention with the soundless earphones of his iPod to distract him, to the incredible manifestations of under sexed, over worked nurses as applied to the nights of passion House and Cuddy might have shared. He often found himself letting his mind wander, keeping his hands in constant check, their words guiding the kind of private visuals in his head that tortured him when he was alone. It didn't help that he knew how to see her naked, their past including one night that the nurses could do no justice to with their stories. There had never been a doubt in his mind that he wanted her.

Yet he could not get what he wanted. Their working environment, though it was not as strong a deterrent for him as it was for her, forbade it. More than that, their own hesitations marred any action to their physical attraction. He respected her, both her position at the hospital and her body as the most beautiful representation of her femininity. While he constantly pushed lines, he was always aware that they were playing on the same field. He would never have dared touch her without her consent.

Then he had that consent. Twice. More. He had her and she had him, and it was filling and all they wanted, but never enough. It was now, staring at her, in the middle of a coy game, that he realized he wanted her more than ever. It wasn't that he took the time they had already spent together for granted, but that he was insurmountably selfish. In that trait was its own, new torture: he still held his regard for her too highly to ask more of her then she was ready to give.

The bet was a bad idea. They had finally come together, and in a matter of hours had created a brand new obstacle between them. Taking her hands in his, leaning his cane on the sofa, he played his thumbs over her soft knuckles and fingers, silently telling her that he was more than willing to conquer the wall they had agreed to consensually build.

Cuddy stared at him, examining his lined face, wondering what he was thinking about.

"Come on," she said, a luscious, daring chuckle in her voice, "show me how it works."

He looked at her sharply, sensing a trap. He needed to define her words. If she was asking him to literally show her how to work the shower, then leave her to do it on her own, he needed to come up with some way to pursue his goal. Her tone, however, suggested that she wanted more from him. Treading carefully, he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Can I show you naked?"

She scoffed, taking her hands from him and folding them over her chest. In one moment her expression blossomed from critical and slightly coy to innocent. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

"I suppose we wouldn't want our clothes getting wet."

House smirked. He grabbed his cane and limped towards the bathroom, Cuddy catching up after fetching her bag from by the door. He had the curtain drawn fully open, the water running without splashing. Steam was billowing towards the ceiling. A quick glance let Cuddy see just how complicated his faucet was: almost the exact same brand as her own. She did not look surprised, and did not ask him to leave because of it. She danced her way out of her clothes, naked before him shamelessly, her steps into the shower ordering him to follow. Freeing himself from his clothes with a far less graceful performance than Cuddy displayed, his steps heavy and lumbering as he followed her without his cane.

The water was hot against their skin, though; House hardly noticed. Cuddy stood in front of him, open to most of the shower head's spray, while House stood as near to her as he could, the water that ran down her body also finding paths down his. His chest was in full contact with her back, his hands floating helplessly over her shoulders. She had a loofah and was working a lather over her soft body, inhaling the fresh fragrance deeply, as if breathing for the first time in hours. She hardly seemed aware of him, her eyes closed, her throat emitting a soft hum. He was afraid to touch her.

All he wanted to do was watch her, marveling at the way the beads of water that slipped down her shoulders followed the paths of imperfections in her skin that he could never hope to see, and did not want to believe really existed. He thought that putting his hand on her might break the look of serenity on her face. His efforts, the longer he watched her exotic body, were wasted – though, it was not his hands that touched her.

Her giggled made him clear his throat, embarrassed but refusing to blush. She turned her head over her shoulder, glancing down before looking up into his eyes.

"Don't get too excited. I haven't forgotten about our bet."

"Neither have I… this is a test."

House reached around her then, taking the sponge from her and, gently, rubbed the soap into her arm. She acquiesced, leaning back against him, letting her eyes droop as steam rose around them, a temperate cushion, the water a heated, massaging blanket. Moving deliberately, he washed her shoulders, her neck, her upper chest. He hesitated. Her hand slid over his and guided his next motions, and he reveled in her bold touch. Together they let the sponge explore her voluptuous breasts, her free hand sliding down his body and finding his throbbing carnality. He growled, pressing his soapy hands lustfully against her.

She murmured and gasped, her grip making him grunt in turn.

Then he remembered their deal. He did not move his hands, holding her tightly against him, his lips on her neck, her hair sticking to his body and face. It was really Cuddy who was losing the bet, so he really had no reason to stop. He was completely innocent, besides offering to take a simple shower with her. It wasn't his fault she affected him enough to make his muscles stiffen in only the way a boy could. She was the one encouraging it. He was just moving with her. Yet, even with his justification in mind, he moved his hands to her side, continuing with washing her with grit determination. She looked back at him, understanding instantly, and smiling gloriously.

She disengaged from him the best she could, taking a step forward. Turning, she kissed him on the cheek, very near to the edge of his lips. Her wanted to turn his head, catch her in a full kiss. So he did. It was deep and rough, passionate and dizzying. She broke away from him and looked at him with a trouble smile, knowing they were in dangers waters, both desperately needing what they had promised not to do, and both bearing too much pride to back down and let it happen. She opted for ignoring him, returning to her shower, taking the shampoo and working it into her drenched hair. It lathered quickly, thickly, and the perfume rose with the steam of the water. House reached around her, letting her wash, and turned the faucet towards the left. The water quickly began to run ice cold, causing Cuddy to jump and gasp.

Shampoo lather escaped from the top of her head and assaulted her eyes, stinging her mercilessly. She uttered a curse that made House laugh, which resulted in her elbow introducing itself to his stomach. Laughing harder, House took her hands and prevented her from rubbing the soap out of her eyes, easing them down and taking the task over for her. She trusted him, her eyes tightly shut, and let him turn her around to face him, his gentle touch washing the soap away. Still stinging, she kept her eyes closed, blind and feeling particularly exposed. His hands were still on her face, his palms over her cheeks, and soon she found him guiding her towards him. She expected him to kiss her, which he did, but not where she had imagined.

His lips met her eyelids, her nose, her forehead, her cheeks. His lips found hers, his hands in her hair, mindlessly washing the shampoo. A preventative measure in case it decided to go after the beautiful eyes he had so carefully saved.

Cuddy moved from him suddenly, leaving the shower and grabbing a nearby towel for herself. Wrapping it around her body, she tilted her head at him, water dripping into a newly formed puddle on the floor. He stared at her, leaning on the wall of the shower, both absorbing how exhausted and tortured the other one seemed. Frustrated in more senses of the word than she cared to think about, Cuddy left the room with her duffle bag. He heard a door close down the hall, surmising that she was now in his room to get dressed.

House stood under the bitterly cold water for a moment longer, to recover his bearings, then, wrapping a towel around his lower half, limped towards his room. Opening the door, he found her sitting on the bed, her hands in her hair, her exasperation clear. She looked at him with a sideways glance sighing.

"I think we need some ground rules."


	14. Chapter 14: Here it Goes Again

**Heh. I know. I go through these random moments of updating frequently, and not updating at all. So here's the second chapter in two days. **

**I probably won't update again for a while. I have a number of papers for various courses coming up. -sigh-**

**Thank you, once again, for the continued support! Reviews are fun. I'm up to about 25,000 hits. That's huge, for me. I've never had a story be read so much. Honestly. Thank you, everyone. **

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**Here it Goes Again**

They were sitting next to each other on the bed, both breathless, their towels belying the modesty their dripping bodies were eager to escape. She had her hand on the bed, her fingers dictating the space between their hips. He had his hand over hers. They refused to look at each other, making no other contact than the hands, their eyes glued on the floor before them. Water was running down their backs and onto the bed, but neither moved to correct the situation.

At length, Cuddy stole a look at him. It was a furtive, sideways glance, quick as to avoid the gravitational pull of his piercing blue eyes. She could not afford to be lost in them. Not if she wanted the bet to continue.

On that decision she was torn. For her, the bet was far more meaningful than 'sex' or 'no sex'. It was relationship defining. As hard as she tried, she could not get Kevin's words out of her mind. The differences between her relationship with Kevin, how slow and romantic it had been, and with House, how electric and torrid it was, were startlingly obvious. These two men believed they were the kind of man she wanted. Sweet and romantic, dominating and difficult. How they could be so confident in what she wanted from them she did not know. She did not believe she was wearing her heart on her sleeve; and if she was, it must have been on a different shirt. Confusion made coming to and sort of decision on the matter impossible. There needed to be a process, a discovery, and a complete understanding.

That was what the bet was. If she could go a week without sex from House, the basis of their initial relationship, she imagined she would be able to make something meaningful happen. If he knew that was her goal he did not show her, near irresistibly pulling her into very sexual situations just to win. She needed the abstinence to persevere, her resolve as solid as she could possibly build it. It was a matter of needing that tactile proof. She wanted to be able to wake up next to him, the final end of their week long ordeal being satisfied, and cling to the proven fact that they were more than just years of compiled sexual tension being released.

Yet she wanted him. Desperately. Her body ached for him, and she knew he could see it. Standing close to him, she swore he could feel it for himself, and it affected him no less than her. He made her feel raw, enlivened and glorious. His eyes, his lips, his skin, his touch; he was her addiction. The very idea of going a week without his intimacy, without the connection she had survived so long without, and had finally won, was agonizing. It caused her the worst, most private kind of pain she could imagine, and that dependence stunned her. She hadn't realized how badly she wanted him until now.

It was the reason she played his games. Taunting him, pushing him. She was testing not only her own resoluteness, but his as well. She had to silently admit that by using the bet and her body against him, capitalizing on their dynamic mutual attraction, she felt she was cheating the very basis of their agreement. Sighing, she turned her hand under his, weaving her fingers with his.

"That shower…" she said, her voice strained and thick. The sound of it made House visibly flinch. She could not hide how her body was dealing with their recent encounter from her vocalizations, and it only made everything worse, "that can't happen again."

House nodded slowly, breaking through the wall they had built between them and looking at her directly, turning his chin to his shoulder. He forced his eyes to focus on her face, her ample breasts rising and falling with her belabored breath, barely covered by a soaked towel doing absolutely nothing to help his objective. She failed in her own goal, looking into those pools of icy blue intensity and losing the will to look at anything else.

"Right," he said, his voice distant and insignificant as their faces grew inexorably closer, "so we need ground rules."

She breathed in his sigh, closing her eyes and reveling in the heat their tantalizingly close lips exchanged. He looked into her soft, expectant face and, after a moment of inner turmoil, turned his face away. She expelled her breath, held captive in her throat, thankfully.

"So…" Cuddy said, forcing herself into a more thoughtful, diplomatic mind frame. She looked at him, trying to discern what she found in him so seductive, and come up with a rational guideline to avoiding it. She decided to start where it was simplest, "definitely no being naked together."

House nodded. He moved to his wardrobe and, in a matter of a second, returned with his towel around his shoulders, a pair of boxers covering his lower half. He arched an eyebrow at her expectantly, even opening her duffle bag, which sat behind them on the bed, for her. She reached over and swatted his hand away defensively, opting to find her underwear for herself. It was difficult to be discreet with him sitting there, watching her, but since he had felt compelled to oblige by the rule in the moment of its creation, she felt it was only fair for her to do the same. Without losing hold of her long towel, she slipped her underwear on. Her bra was a bit more difficult, and she turned her back to him to prevent him sneaking any kind of peak. As she fumbled for the clip she felt his fingers on her back.

She shuddered at the flood of images that assaulted her at this incredible moment of déjà vu.

Sighing profoundly, she turned back to him, nodding at his boxers as he nodded at her undergarments. She drew the towel around her shoulders, protecting her back from the sharp coldness of her long damp hair.

"Okay. Well. In there we…" she looked at him, a vague curve of her lips forming a teasing expression he wanted to explore with much more depth, "no… inappropriate touching."

House nodded, moving closer to her. She watched him distrustfully, and was justified in the suspicion. He put his hands on her legs, his eyes following his movements. She waited with bated breath, his hands sliding up her to her hips. She caught his hands by putting her own on top of his, his fingers curling towards the shadows of her inner thighs.

"What are you doing?" She asked, anger creeping into her tone at his audacity to break a rule so quickly, particularly after so willingly complying with the previous one. He looked at her innocently, hurt by the accusation in her tone.

"I was trying to determine what's inappropriate," he said innocuously, not letting his hands retreat even when she began to dig her nails into them, "there are a lot of body parts, Cuddy. I just want to know which ones are off limits. If your muscles contracted I would deem that an area you're particularly receptive to, and thus inappropriate. I'll back off right away. Promise."

"That's just an excuse to feel me up," Cuddy snorted indignantly, letting his hands free despite her protest. The look in her eyes told House he was making the right moves, and she was enjoying herself regardless of what she said. He was relieved, now confident in the fact that she was not taking the bet as seriously as he had at one time thought.

"Go on with these rules, then," he said, letting his hands skip over her waist and begin their path on her stomach. The motion made her feel uncomfortable, and she instinctively leaned away from him, balancing awkwardly as he, unnoticing, explored her body with his fingers. His touch was something between a loving caress and a rough massage, causing the hairs on Cuddy's arms and the back of her neck to stand on end.

"Okay," she breathed, speaking with an unstimulated levelness she did not actually feel, "I suppose… no kissing. I mean… no… no sexy kissing."

"Sexy kissing?" House grinned at the way her fluster affected her vocabulary. His hands were on her upper limbs now, one joining the other to explore one of her arms, then finishing their examination of her muscles with the other. That done, he placed his hands on her shoulders and watched for a moment as Cuddy let out a tight lipped sigh, and then moved in for the next step in his rudimentary clarification tactic, "what does that mean?"

He kissed her tenderly, looking directly into her eyes with a patient question glistening at her. She shrugged helplessly.

"That was good," she said, almost dreamily. He kissed her again, with a little more passion, and she shook her head against him, "that might be too much," she said, their lips still pressed together. House nodded, letting the kiss finish rather than end it himself. He took a moment of thoughtful preparation, then kissed her like before. She hummed her enjoyment. He moved his kiss to her neck, unable to keep the chuckle from his throat as her hands flew up to his shoulders and pushed him back.

"I need to know if sexy kisses are the same everywhere on the body. Except the places I'm not allowed to touch, of course," he said, placating. She rolled her eyes at him, but let her hands fall from his shoulders. He moved towards her, guiding her down onto the bed beneath them as he positioned himself over her. She looked up at him incredulously, but knew better than to question him at this point. Her tight fisted hand let him know that she would not tolerate any foul play.

His lips met her neck again and she bristled. He followed the line of her collar bone, then down. He got as close to her breasts as he could dare, then skipped over them without needing the hand she placed on his flat stomach as a reminder. He kissed her stomach, her sides, her belly button, the exposed curves of her hip bones above the line of her underwear. She hissed as he let his soft lips move onto her legs. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Sensitive, hmm?"

"You're being mean," she shot back, sitting up. He, bracing himself by putting his hands on her legs, moved quickly to meet her, his lips meeting hers with bruising, stunning apology. She gripped him by the shoulders, more to steady herself than anything else, and when he pulled away she gaped at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise.

He grinned confidently.

"Anything else?"

Cuddy thought for a moment, taking the time to let her breathing level out. Her heart fluttered in her chest, making her feel as if she were sitting in a class room and the boy she had a secret crush on had just asked to be her lab partner. She looked at him, wanting to work with him more, but unable to come up with any more rules. She shook her head in defeat.

"There must be more, but I can't think of anything. I'm sure you'll do something to make a new rule necessary, though," she said, sliding her hands from his shoulder and moving to get off the bed. House let her go, sitting back in what was almost the perfect imitation of his initial position. She sat next to him, her hand between them. He slid his fingers over hers, lacing them together. Smiling contentedly, she leaned against him, no longer feeling bound to keep from any contact.

They sat there together; half dressed, still drying from their shower, their breathing regulated into a harmonious drone, for a long time. Cuddy closed her eyes, and House leaned his head against hers. The only time they moved was when she sneezed, an occurrence that happened just frequently enough to remind House that she was battling the flu, and he was flirting with contracting it by spending so much of his time in direct contact with her. He did not move, however.

Abruptly, House moved his free hand to her chin and lifted her face so her eyes met his. She was beautifully complacent, her eyes reflecting a calm, comfortable bliss that House almost did not want to break with words. The longer she watched him, however, the easier it was for him to realize that it was not the silence that she was thriving in, but simply his company.

Feeling strangely prideful and at once uncomfortable, he smiled, his heart skipping a beat as she smiled back, "let's go on a date."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and he reflected her contemplative expression with just a trace of his own anticipation thrown in. Moving, she looked at her duffle bag with an almost sorrowful droop of her head.

"I don't have anything nice with me."

"That's okay. We won't go on a nice date. Wear something trashy," House stood, looking serious, letting her dismiss his comment with a grunt. Without making it too obvious, House let his tone slip into an open candor, more vulnerable than he liked to leave himself, "Well, okay, wear what you brought. I promise. You'll look beautiful."

She blushed, any witty reply dying before it could really be born once she saw the expression on his face. They fell into silence as House limped to his wardrobe once again, pulling out some clothes and getting dressed. Cuddy, despite knowing he would not be exposed in any sort of way, did not look at him during the process. When she did look towards him he was standing in the door, leaning on his cane, looking very handsome in a suede blazer and ironed slacks, his button up clean and unrumpled.

"I'll let you get ready," he said, his tone both sweet and accommodating and issuing an order. She nodded, reserving her comments for his looks for later. He turned and pulled the door closed behind him. From behind it he called, "and don't take forever."

She had no intention of keeping him waiting.


	15. Chapter 15: Piano Man

**Not really happy this one. There will be subtle changes to it over the next couple of days. Haven't edited it yet.**

**It's official. I am NOT romantic.  
**

**Want to know how many chapters are left? Eh. I'll tell you later. **

**Thank you, everyone, for the near 200 reviews! I really, really do appreciate hearing from you! Even one word reviews are wonderful: it lets me know that you read it and care enough to take the time to leave me a note. So thank you, all! **

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**Piano Man**

The simple pleasures in life were the ones easiest to not notice. Slowing down, allowing for room to breathe, and letting the complexities of the world drift away was the perfect way to relieve stress. For Lisa Cuddy, slowing down was, to her surprise, as easy as letting House take her to dinner. Giving herself room to breathe was leaving the workplace behind and shifting her focus so that all she could feel was her personal relationship. This evening, her world was not complex at all, with nothing to stress over and nothing more to worry about than where House was going to take her next. Walking down the street with him, her hand clasped in his, even that was but a fleeting thought.

She was surprised to find she had a crush on House. It was a strange realization to come to, considering the amount of time she spent with him on a daily basis, and how big a part he played in her daily life. Not to mention the recent sexual encounters. A crush usually came before a relationship was established, yet here she was, blushing and leaning on him only slightly as they walked together, embarrassed and self conscious. She wanted him to like her.

Sighing privately, she leaned her head against his arm and silently chided herself. Her nervousness was unwarranted. He had asked her on this date, after all. He had initiated the search for depth and romance because she had asked him to, she corrected herself, arching an eyebrow towards him. They weren't in High School. This wasn't a school days fling. The definition of a relationship had shifted. It wasn't a matter of 'liking' someone anymore. It was compatibility; physical attraction coupled with the 'it' factor. Sparks. She was confident that she shared both of these things with House. There was no cause for anxiety.

Shifting her gaze to the sidewalk as they lazily strolled down the street, she could not stave off the rush of heat that filled her face, flooding over the bridge of her nose and into her cheeks. Her thoughts turned to her clothes. She was dressed in a soft blouse with a low neck line, with a casual skirt that showed off her legs, without being too over the top about it. She felt under dressed, walking with so dashing a man as House presented himself tonight. She sighed. He probably thought she looked common place. Boring.

Soon their aimless wandering led them to a pretty park, the night just settling around them. Old fashioned street lamps that lined their path flickered to life, ambient stars against the canopy of thickly leaved trees, vibrant and thriving despite the chill of the season. From somewhere nearby a lake's calming melody drifted to them, its waters churning without urgency or direction, the silver bodies of fish and the motion of duck feet the only movement in the otherwise still waters. House navigated, leading her to a park bench that looked out over the serene black lake. Intermittently a flicker of a fish swimming too close to the surface caught their attention, the moon catching on reflective scales.

A thin breeze sloped over the water, guiding a swan into a graceful landing on a ripple. Cuddy shivered, leaning against her date for warmth, instantly feeling too hot. He turned his face towards her, his chin on her head. Both sighed.

"I told you," House said, grinning as she looked up expectantly. The closeness of their faces was comfortable, "you look beautiful tonight."

"It's dark," Cuddy replied nonchalantly. House put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him.

"You cold?"

"Not at all," she said, breathing him in, her head on his chest, his pulse in her ear. They sat in silence for a while, watching the moon, the stars, the water and the swan.

Cuddy was feeling light headed. It was the champagne from dinner, she decided, and the cold medicine. Before setting out, she had rummaged through House's medicine cabinet. His selection, not surprisingly, was vast and it had been difficult to find anything suitable for the flu symptoms that were bothering her. Regardless, she had felt much better during the dinner, even though she was keenly aware of how underdressed she was at the restaurant House had surprised her with. It had been beautiful and romantic, leaving Cuddy breathless.

"Wait…" she said abruptly, thoughts overflowing and spilling into words, "we were seated as a reservation."

"Mhm," he replied dreamily, feigning contented sleepiness.

"You only asked me out today. How long have you had that reservation? A place like that, it would need some time in advance to fit you in."

House's face flickered. He opened his eyes and looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised, his lips slightly pursed in thought. She watched the lightening fast path of his lie, from conception at the end of her question, the extra sentence she gave him to perfect it, to the seamless delivery after an appropriately timed beat.

"I caught a peak at the reservation list and shot them a fake name. We're just lucky the real McCoy's didn't show up," he did not flinch at his miserable choice of last names.

"The real McCoy, huh?"

"I bet he gets that one a lot."

"Mhm," Cuddy grunted, "so, what? A week? Two?"

Seconds slipped away, the atmosphere of their date changing drastically as House shifted position on the bench. He disengaged from her, sliding down the seat and away from her touch before standing and limping with his cane a few steps forward. He looked over his shoulder, his face obscured by the shadows of the trees. She watched him, not feeling threatened by his need to escape. She watched him patiently, letting him decide between honesty and jokes.

"I made the first reservation at this place two months ago," House said with a gruff sigh, "they were getting pretty used to me calling up and rescheduling. They actually called me yesterday to make sure I hadn't forgotten to call them again."

Cuddy looked thoughtfully at the grass beneath her feet. A radiant grin exploded across her face, her white teeth flashing in the night, her sharp blue eyes glistening even brighter.

"You've been planning to ask me out for two months?" she tried not to tease him, but there was no way to avoid it, "and even when I was with Kevin… you didn't cancel the reservation? You were so sure you'd get me, you just bided your time?"

She did not know how to feel during her short speech. There was outrage at his presumptuous audacity. There was laughter at his implied shyness and the awkward way he confessed. She was tickled by the idea that he wanted to ask her out, her school girl crush flaring to life. She admired the consistency and persistence in his hopes. She hated that he waited two months.

"Yes, no, and I wish," House moved to stand nearer to her, not looking directly at her. Staring at him, she wondered if he was struggling with the same adolescent feelings as she was. She stood, letting her body slide against his, wrapping her arms around his torso as his arm, the one not engaged in supporting his weight by holding a cane, fell behind her back. She was looking into his face, her chin on his chest as he arched his neck down to look as directly into her eyes as he could. He watched her, searching her face as if he were digging through her thoughts, "I didn't think you would say yes."

"I probably wouldn't have," Cuddy shrugged. They had crashed together so violently, their chemistry exploding into a fiery relationship neither could have predicted. Given a chance to approach it conventionally, she doubted she would have risked all the complications and confusion. It would have been yet another awkward moment to barrel through, to store in the back of her mind, and to ignore as they continued on in denial.

"I wanted you to," House said, his confession unstoppable now, "and I asked you because I knew you would now. Work was in the way, Then Kevin. It sounds bad, but I wasn't deterred by Kevin. You know I never thought he would last. But I wasn't going to break you up. I wasn't, so I waited. You… you were relentlessly magnetic. I couldn't… wait. I guess I should apologize for that."

"But you won't," Cuddy said with a warm, forgiving chuckle.

"I love that you get me."

The playful sarcasm in his tone was shattered, as far as Cuddy was concerned, by the second word in that sentence. She wanted to hear it in a different place, a different way. She kissed him anyway, desperately, powerfully. House kissed her without hesitance, his hand flat against her back, pressing her to him. The air crackled around them, the dizzying palpability of their desire sparking from their skin. Cuddy stepped back from him, her lips throbbing almost painfully, her body alive with a fire she could never hope to put out.

"Thank you for tonight, Greg," she said, trembling. House reacted with unfamiliar chivalry, draping his suede coat over her shoulders. Before letting go, he dug his hand into his pocket at her side, causing her to hold onto the lapels to keep it from dropping. He pulled out his iPod, clicked a few times on the navigation wheel, and then put it into his pants pocket. Music filtered, muffled and soft, from the small headphones. The music player was on full blast, but the sound indentured itself just to House and Cuddy, serving their date. She watched House as he offered her is arm. Blinking, a wall flower suddenly in the spotlight, she timidly accepted. His cane made no difference as they held each other and swayed, dancing under the stars, to their own private music.

"What does that mean? Are you going home already?" He asked. Her head resting on his chest, their bodies moving together, Cuddy laughed at the suggestion.

"If I am, I doubt I'm going alone," she found herself hardly breathing. They stopped moving, simply holding each other. He moved in for a kiss, but she pulled back, "we should get out of here."

"Don't want the ducks to watch?"

"Voyeur fowls? No, they don't concern me. I'm just… not interested in losing this bet," they stared at each other, neither believing her, "let's go back to your place."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll take you back to my place. Crack open a few beers. Put on a movie. By the time the credits begin to roll I'll have you begging me to forget about the bet, drunk and horny as hell."

Cuddy shook her head, poking his chest as if to dare him, "if by that you mean roofies and porn, then maybe your plan will work."

House looked at her in surprise, "so you've already been on this date?" She pulled her finger back from his chest and balled it with the rest into a fist, punching him hard on the shoulder. He yelped miserably, "is this how you're going to be in our relationship? Abusive? I need to know right now."

"I hurt you because I care so much; don't be such a wuss," she said, waving nonchalantly and then patting his cheek with the undertone force of a slap, "you wouldn't leave me."

Bowing his head, he mumbled his defeat, "you're right." He put his arm around her waist, nodding approvingly at the way she wore his coat, and the two retraced their path through the park.

Soon they were back in House's living room, sprawled on the couch. Cuddy was wearing one of his long night shirts, having conveniently forgotten her own pair of pajamas, while House relaxed in boxers and socks. They were lounging on the sofa, the floor in front of them a mini-recycling center, for all the empty glass beer bottles huddled within arm's length of the pair. Both held fresh beers, Cuddy's third, House's fifth. The TV was on low, a movie neither cared about playing out on the screen. House was sitting with his body slouched and angled, Cuddy resting on top of him, his arm around her shoulders.

He was pleased to find that she was a quiet, bashful drunk. She blushed and giggled, not saying much beyond a few weak jokes and awkward statements about how comfortable he was, or how nice he smelled. They had kissed for a while and, having grown tired of the limitations of their bet, eventually grown tired of it. It was more tantalizing than satisfying, tormenting rather than indulgence. House was surprised by how quiet Cuddy's flu had become, not realizing she had taken some rather powerful medication from his bathroom cabinet.

Staring absently at the screen, enjoying the complacency of the night, House allowed himself a prolonged, genuine smile. He finally understood what Cuddy had been trying to accomplish in going along with this bet. Or at least, he imagined he did. He wasn't ready to pronounce his findings. Closing his eyes, he smiled at the ceiling.

This felt right. Having her under his arm, her body resting against his without rigidity or reluctance, no stress, no fantasizing. It was all real and potent; very new to a man who had been so long alone. He did not want to be anywhere else in that moment. Or any moment following. He could feel her breath on his body, the tickle of her hair against his arm and shoulder, and it was something he did not want to lose. This was what a romance was. Being completely addicted to someone else, without the over powering need to just have sex with them. He wanted her, for sure, but there was absolutely nothing he wanted more than to merely have her near him.

Upon arriving home, House had succeeded in wooing Cuddy into the quiet contentedness in which she now rested against him with. They had opened the first beers and he had set her down at his piano. The songs he played for her led her to her second beer, while he, nervous, had sped to his third. He had refused to sing for her, which only added to the complicated task of being romantic. She let him off the hook and they had retreated to the couch for some time together. She took her time with her last beer, while he nursed two more.

His thoughtful wanderings were interrupted as Cuddy moved on top of him. His eyes snapped open as her lips met his, passion igniting the stillness of the room. Despite how good it felt, the intoxicating taste of her tingling lips, he pushed her gently back.

"What…" he began to ask. Her eyes, however, held the answer. His heart thundered in his throat and ears, making it impossible to breathe. Her words were almost lost to him, even as he forced himself to listen with every ounce of will power he had.

"I want you so bad," she said, her voice not slurred. He would have liked to imagine that she was in complete control of her cognitive abilities, but there was not even the slightest evidence, beyond her forceful voice, that this wasn't just the alcohol pulsing through her fiery veins talking. She kissed him again, and he let her, kissing her back like he knew she wanted. She let one word puncture their lips, it filling the room with trembling expectation, "please?"

It took him quite a while to find a moment to speak, her advances intense and monopolizing. Somehow he managed to get his hands on her shoulders and push her away from him once more, holding her at arm's length. She stared at him expectantly, breathing heavily. He tilted his head and sighed, "you had to ruin this by getting drunk, huh? Oh well. You lost the bet."

Cuddy smiled, devastatingly provocative, seducing his rational side to join the rest of his desires and take her to the bedroom. He consented at length, kissing her with enough force to push her back against the arm on the other end of the sofa. Climbing gracelessly from the sofa, House took a deep breath before sliding his arms under her frame. Lifting her and standing was the easy part, which was more difficult than he would admit out loud. Carrying her into his room without the assistance of his cane was excruciating. Still, he managed, falling onto the bed with her beneath him. One hand underneath her, the other behind her neck, he kissed her relentlessly, until all that she knew as his lips and his taste.

And then he left her, rolling to lie beside her. She, gulping for air, looked at him as if he had betrayed her, hurt her, and left her wounded. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his efforts to calm himself wasted as she put her hand on his chest, her lips against his chest, searching for the one spot that would make him give her what they both wanted. He hissed, hating and loving it.

"You lost the bet," House said, his voice firm as if to discourage her from arguing the point, "and I won. We'll talk about my winnings in the morning. Just… go to sleep now."

Even as he spoke he realized she was not moving against him any more. Looking down, he found her fast asleep, hugging him endearingly. Sighing, he disengaged himself, leaving her resting comfortably on his pillow, the blanket pulled up to her shoulder. Kissing her forehead, surprised to find her skin warm, he rolled away and then took a long visit to the bathroom.

Afterwards, he came back into the room and looked towards the sleeping Dean of Medicine. The room was dark and silent, no light falling over the bed. Yet even in the gloom he could see her beautiful, peaceful face. Affected, he moved towards her and carefully, slowly, climbed into the bed. He wrapped his arm around her, resting on top of the blanket as if not trusting himself to be in full contact with her rapturous body. Kissing her neck, he closed his eyes and fell to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16: You Wreck Me

**Hah, another update. Gotta say, like this one a lot more than the last. Once again, thank you for your views and reviews! Just four more chapters to go! **

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**You Wreck Me**

He kneeled behind her, holding back her hair as she wretched violently over the porcelain bowl. Her pale hands clung to the sides of the white toilet, almost matched the color, sliding down and causing her to lose her balance when the throes of her surging stomach hit their most vehement crescendo. She almost collapsed forward, her stomach at last empty of not only food, but all the bile it had produced in reaction to her illness. The dry heaving had been the most excruciating, her intestinal tract all but caving in on itself in a series of cramps and undulating waves of nausea that had no relief.

House put his hands on her shoulders, letting her gasp for air now that the fit of being sick had passed. He eased her against him, her trembling back against his chest. She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling almost certain she was beyond putting him in danger of being thrown up on. He put his hand to her forehead, sighing and shaking his head.

"You should have told me."

"I shouldn't have gotten so drunk."

"I'm glad we agree that it's your fault entirely," he grunted, getting to his feet gingerly, struggling between his own disability and helping her to her feet. She leaned most of her weight on him, which did not help matters, knocking him slightly off balance. It was a precarious position for a man with only one good leg to be in, and he did not enjoy it in the least. Still, he would rather they both fell than let her fall alone. Keeping his grip firm, yet gentle, he supported her as they walked, both limping, back into his bedroom.

He eased her onto the bed, careful of the physical manifestation of agony that had replaced her stomach. She kept her hands on the tender area, though, she could do very little to diminish the pain. Whimpering softly, she relaxed into the soft bed, her head propped up on two pillows. She kept the sheets down around her feet, feeling far too hot to have them over her.

Though the pain in her stomach was the most consuming, her entire body ached from the fever. She had no energy, her limbs heavy and incompetent. They refused to work for her, which had made her desperate run to the bathroom something like an Olympic event that she had not actually qualified for. She was hot, her veins pulsing magma, her head foggy from the fever that raged unchecked.

Alcohol usually amplified the affects of most cold and flu oriented medication. But it also came with its own set of side effects. These side effects, headache, nausea, disorientation, took on a life of their own when they met the prescription strength medication Cuddy had wantonly taken in her bloodstream. She hadn't anticipated the reaction to be so violent, but in retrospect, as Dean of Medicine, she probably should have known better. It was a bad idea to take any kind of medication with alcohol. Hindsight did nothing but make her feel worse.

House, cane in hand, made his way into the kitchen to prepare an ice pack for her. He only had a vague idea about what hour it was. Early in the morning. He imagined it was going to be a long night, with very few of the moments it would invariably include belonging to sleep. Carrying the cold ice pack back for Cuddy, he sighed and shook his head. One moment he had been placidly cuddling with her, sleeping in the comfort of their shared warmth, the next he had been struggling to keep up behind her as she darted haphazardly for the bathroom. He had to admit, her strangled cry and sudden movement from his arms had very nearly terrified him.

He sat softly on the side of the bed, as near to her as he could without stirring her from her fleeting rest. She looked at him irregardless of his efforts, her eyes agonized and miserable. He put the ice pack on her forehead, the sudden chill sending a shiver through her body that was accompanied by sharp intake of air. Looking into her face impassively, he touched her cheek with his still icy hands and sighed.

"We should probably take you to a hospital," he said, picking his wording carefully, "I'm no good with house calls."

Cuddy snorted a contemptuous laugh, "Please. Your name is in it. I'm fine. I'm sure we two can handle this. We're both doctors, right?"

"Well, I am, anyway. You. You're an idiot," House stood abruptly, the movement sending a wave of pain through her abdomen that she informed him about by articulating it with a groan. He looked at her, frowned, and then pulled open a nearby bedside cabinet drawer. Producing a pill bottle, he let one vicodin tablet fall into his palm, then returned to his seat besides Cuddy, looming over her. She looked up at him, not having been watching, and arched an eyebrow. He proffered the small pill, and she shook her head as violently as she dared with the explosive headache just lurking behind her eyes.

"I'm cramping, not imploding. And I'm pretty sure the last thing I need right now is more junk in my bloodstream."

"Your body is flushing out the bad, bad alcohol. The vicodin won't kill you. Just take it. I won't be able to go back to sleep with you groaning all night." He helped her sit up, careful of her wince, and put the pill to her lips without waiting for a reply. Sighing, she opened her mouth and took it onto her tongue, accepting the glass of water he held out to her and taking a small sip of it to wash the pill down. She watched him as he sighed again, his hand scratching through his scruffy hair.

"You're getting sick, aren't you?" Cuddy asked, accusation in her tone. House sniffed and waved dismissively. Cuddy, settling back into the pillows, was not dissuaded, "your eyes are glossy, and you keep sighing. Are you catching my cold?"

"I don't see why that's surprising," He took the ice pack, which had slipped down when she sat up, and replaced it on her still burning forehead. He frowned as he felt the heat, noting that he would need to take her temperature, just to be safe. It was then, watching her with soft, worried eyes, that he realized how sick she really was, and regretted the way he was treating her. Something inside him and switched over to 'patient care' mode. His terrible bedside manner and short demeanor had come into play, against a woman who certainly did not deserve it. She was not a stranger to him. A patient whose name he would never bother to learn. He leaned forward and, to her surprise, kissed her on the cheek.

"What was that for?"

"I need to take your temperature. I know you don't feel like it, but you need the covers on you. It's freezing tonight, and your body doesn't need the exposure. Besides, what was it they used to say about sweating out a fever? I'm going to get my thermometer. Do you need anything?" He was already standing and halfway to the bathroom by the time he asked his question. Cuddy did not reply, and he assumed it was because she did not require anything from him, beyond his company.

Walking back into the room, he discovered her to be sleeping, deeply yet troubled. She hadn't managed to tuck herself in, her body trembling in the cold night. He eased onto the bed beside her, settling in by putting his feet up and sitting up. If he were to lay down, he would be in almost the same position he was before she had gotten this sick. Her face was flushed, sweat beading on her forehead, her chest rising and falling heavily, a dream he could not fathom making her eyes dart back and forth beneath her closed eyelids. Her skin looked pallid, her muscles drawn tight. He imagined she was aching and extremely uncomfortable.

Careful not to wake her, he slid the old fashioned thermometer under her tongue, waiting for the seconds to tick by before taking it out and looking at the reading. The number 104.2 stared up at him, and he sighed once more, this time the weary sound was accompanied by a cough. He stifled it, unwilling to disturb his sick girlfriend. He paused for a moment, placing the thermometer on the bedside table, his thoughts suddenly thick and disoriented. His girlfriend was sick.

His. Girlfriend.

He watched her for a long time, absorbing every movement of her resting form, sifting between what was natural and what was caused by the illness. Pulling the sheets up over them, he moved to hold her, to ease her trembling, and to tell her without speaking that he was going to take care of her. She seemed to relax in his arms, a thin, but extremely powerful smile playing on the corners of her lips. He took from that slight curvature of her mouth a multitude of meanings, falling just short of a full blown epiphany. He was falling for her, hard, and he had a feeling she was right there beside him, falling for the first time. Suddenly feeling very responsible, he held her tenderly closer.

If they were in for a crash, they would have to bear it together. There was no chance of him letting her go.

"That's a bit tight, House," Cuddy's voice punctured the silent night, the surprise coupled with her words forcing a laugh from his throat. He looked down at her, letting her shift in his arms. She reached up and removed the ice pack, turning onto her side to look him in the face. Her eyes were dull, exhausted, but shone with an adorable cheerfulness irregardless of her sickly condition, "what's got you so clingy?"

House took the ice pack from her and smoothed it over her neck, causing her to moan appreciatively as she flopped onto her back once more. Her eyes closed, she hummed one of the tunes House had played her on the piano earlier that night, her voice deep and unnaturally crackled. House hummed along with her, using the ice pack to cool her shoulders and chest, careful not to stretch the neck of his shirt out too much, as well as her forehead and neck. She opened one eye and looked at him, expectant, suddenly remembering she had asked him a question.

Taking the hint, House shrugged, focusing on the heat her skin was producing and realizing that not all of it was borne of fever, "You were shaking. I just thought a little contact would do you some good."

Cuddy bowed her head a little, blushing. He moved his hands over her, leaving the ice pack on the other side of her, then put his hand gently on her hip. She moved with his pull, being drawn closer to him and not resisting it in the slightest. He let his head touch hers, his nose just beside her ear, his breath following the line of her chin. She turned her face slightly toward his as he lifted his head slightly, his lips finding the very corner of hers. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

"I lost the bet, huh?"

"You did indeed," House's voice smiled teasingly without a trace appearing on his face.

"What are you going to do with your winnings?" she was barely whispering, struggling to keep collected now that her drunkenness had subsided. There was no more words in her mind, and every effort at an explanation failed. She knew he saw beyond the heavy innuendo. She also knew he didn't really have to.

"Haven't decided," House said, the stillness of the night and the low volume of Cuddy's tone leading him to keep his own words down, "don't you worry about that. I won't let you forget. For now, just go to sleep. You've got work in the morning, right? You'll be in no condition to go, but I bet you will anyway. Since you've proven yourself so adept at making decisions regarding your health, I won't be surprised when you collapse on your desk."

Cuddy moved so that her head could be turned to face him directly, their eyes level. She flashed him a strong, defiant grin, "you'll just have to keep a good eye on me."

"I think it's rather irresponsible of you to ask me, a doctor who devotes himself to treating patients in the clinic, to put aside his professional duties to walk back and forth from your office and the clinic just to make sure you haven't overdosed on alcohol and cold medicine again."

"I think I'll be fine," Cuddy huffed, attempting to roll away from him. He tightened his arms around her, curling his body around hers to keep her from moving. Burying his chin into the crook of her neck and shoulder, he made sure she wasn't going anywhere. She sighed, her back against his chest, her legs bent in the same pose as him, their bodies seemingly built to lie this way. He breathed her in, realizing he was cuddling and not caring about the word nor the relentless teasing he could be subjected to, and sighed.

And then, as the moment grew too perfect, as Cuddy eased into a deep sleep, and as House began to feel he was right where he needed to be, a sneeze echoed through the room. It startled Cuddy to the point of a short, halting scream. House erupted into laughter, hard and wild, hugging her tightly. She struggled against him, yelling at him for waking her up, and telling him to take something for his cold before he got any worse. He continued to laugh, and soon she found herself laughing with him. By the time their amusement tapered off, they were nestled comfortably once more, chuckling and giggling their way back to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17: Eight Days a Week

**Sorry for taking so damn long, everyone! I have a ton of excuses, but none of them are good enough. If you are still reading this story, even after so long being neglected, I thank you whole heartedly! **

**As far as this chapter goes... it's probably not as good as I owe you. But I needed to get back into the swing of writing, and this is the only way I could think to do so. Enjoy it, anyway, and let me know what you think. **

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**Eight Days a Week**

_**Day Two:**_

"I'm sorry, sir, but what you're describing does not exactly qualify as a malpractice suit against… anyone," the Dean of Medicine said with a sigh, holding the phone to her ear by balancing it on her shoulder and tilting her head against it, "No, sir, I'm not teasing you or your pain."

Listening to a recently released patient moan and complain about the pain and suffering of their slow post-operation recovery as they desperately sought to bleed money from the doctors who had worked so hard to save their lives via a contrived lawsuit against the hospital was never the high point of Lisa Cuddy's day. It was tiresome trying to remain level headed as she employed various diplomatic tactics to talk the patient out of making a fool of themselves and wasting the time, money and patience of everyone involved. There were few meetings, phone calls or emails of this nature that left her without a headache. Handling one of these calls while hung over was a devastatingly bad idea, but an unavoidable consequence of the evening before. Her illness was waning as a result of the night she had spent purging her system, but it was a hollow victory in the face of the headache that she had awoken to.

The man on the other end of the phone did not know it, but he was now over drawing on her hyper sensitive senses, forcing her pounding headache into a migraine.

She leaned back in her seat, unable to contain a groan of irritation and fatigue from escaping her lips. The patient, scorned, raised his voice another decibel in his insult, accusing her with a piercing shriek of being heartless towards his plight and trying to cover her own hide while protecting the hospital against the mistakes that were obviously made in his treatment. At this point, Cuddy found herself fresh out of patience.

"Look, sir," she said, her tone sharp and not to be questioned. She could almost hear the man shrinking against the phone, the shudder her suddenly stubborn voice created in him rippling through the phone line, "I'm not saying doctors are infallible. What I am telling you is that, in this particular situation, a complication such as you're describing can be blamed on nothing but your own stupidity. My doctors made no human error in their treatment of you: you pulled your stitches being immature with your buddies. How dare you try to rob the hospital of a few bucks, just because you can't be bothered to listen to the direct orders of your physicians. If you come up with a legitimate cause for worry concerning your case, feel free to come back. If not, I don't want to hear from you again."

The line disconnected. For a moment she thought he had hung up on her before giving her the chance to do so on him, and it enraged her. Her eyes, however, shifted from the phone in her hand, held before her in surprise, to the hand that was pressing down the hook on the phone's base. Following that arm, her eyes found House leaning over her desk, cane leaning on the front of it, his other arm behind his back. She frowned at him, moving to slam the phone down and only missing his fingers by his anticipation of her action.

"Did you make him cry?" House asked, making himself comfortable against the front of the desk.

"I might have heard a sniffle," she said with dismissive wave of her hand. Fixing her eyes on his, she noted his light air and felt the instantaneous growth of suspicion within her, "do you need something?"

'I brought you some medicine I thought you'd appreciate."

He took his cane and circled the desk, moving beside her as she watched him carefully. He looked down at her, and then looked around furtively. Bowing down, he revealed what he had been holding behind his back, pushing it towards Cuddy as if worried he might be caught holding it. She accepted it before looking at it, inspecting it as he pulled away from her. Frowning, she looked up at him without the slightest trace of amusement in her eyes. It was a medium sized flask, old fashioned and classically shaped. It left little to the imagination as far as what it held. She tossed it to him without regard, satisfied when he missed the catch and it clattered to the floor.

"I'm busy, House. Do you need something important, or are you just here to mock me about last night? Because, honestly, I think this hang over is quite enough. Now, if we're done here, I'd like to just get back to work."

House, flask in hand, obtrusively took a seat on her desk, making sure to swing his legs in to keep her from the work space she desired. She glared at him and he smiled disarmingly, unscrewing the cap to the flask and taking a long swig. Cuddy rolled her eyes, placing her hands on his hips and shoving him with little result. He put his hand on her chin and raised the flask to her lips, dipping it despite her protest until he was sure she had tasted what medicine he had brought. The two settled, Cuddy leaning back in her seat, her eyes never leaving his, and House gaining reign over the desk.

"Honestly, Cuddy, I didn't think you hated orange juice so much," he said with a shrug, drinking again. Cuddy jabbed his leg with the pen she had managed to save from House's office space take over. Rubbing it gingerly, he added, "You should have told me and spared me the effort. Very inconsiderate, considering how well I took care of you last night."

Cuddy sighed and stood, moving to join House on the desk. She sat close to him, taking the flask and drinking from it just to appease him. He smiled with what Cuddy believed was genuine amusement. She leaned towards him and kissed his cheek, leaning her forehead against the side of his as she spoke softly into his ear.

"Thank you for that. I feel… better. Now," she pulled away abruptly, tilting her head coyly at him as a flush of fire pulsed through her veins. Her eyes lit up brilliantly, seductively, and both knew she was no longer talking about the here and now, "what do you want?"

House felt as if he were walking into a trap. Still, with the look in her eyes and the incredible magnetism of her sultry body language, he could not help but stumble willingly into it.

"Well, since I am the winner of our little bet, it only seems fair that I get anything I ask for," he said cautiously, standing as she did and following her around the desk, the heat seeping from her body a potent lure. Suddenly he felt at an unfair advantage. Her office smelled only of her, every corner, every shadow reminding House of the as of yet unexplored parts of her body that he longed for. She stopped and he towered over her, hands on her hips, eyes buried in her stunning, aggressive gaze. He pulled her closer, roughly, fingers gripping her lithe body in an effort to keep her from escaping him. As much as he had tricked himself into believing otherwise, he now could see a week without her, now that he had had her, would have been a week too long. He could vaguely recall their first encounter, years ago, and the similar affect it had on him.

"Which is…?" she prompted, leading him with the slightest twitch of her fingers against his arms, the flutter of her lips as she barely whispered each word all but forcing him to forsake his plans and ask her to join him in the break room. His grip tightened on her aching body as his resolve wavered, their lips brushing as the conversation continued to draw him to her.

"You know what I want… you want it too," he said, growling. He broke away from her abruptly, stumbling without his cane for a moment as he struggled to regain his composure. Turning back to her, seeing the look of surprise and disappointment on her face, he found the motivation he needed to stay true to his previous goals, no matter how hard it would be for him. And for her, "the bet was a week. So let's finish what we started. Six more days. No rules, no tricks. Just no sex."

Cuddy let her jaw drop, incredulous, and slightly disconcerted to be so easily brushed aside, "Why?" she demanded, her voice as commanding as it had been with the man on the phone.

"We'll see. Unless you don't think you're up for it? Do you need me that badly, Lisa? Because, hey, I'm more than willing to be there for you, if you know what I mean. You're the one that said you didn't want this to just be about the sex, right?"

"Fine," Cuddy said, returning to her desk. She was visibly ruffled, not making eye contact with him until she absolutely needed to, "fine. You're just lucky I have no one else to go to. Of course… I'm sure Kevin wouldn't mind a call from me."

"Not funny."

"Not meant to be. I don't know what you're planning with this, House, but okay. I'll go along with it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. And so do you."

House smiled, limping to the door with a satisfied nod. Stopping in the door way, he looked back over his shoulder and, his handsomely grizzled face bearing a sober look of lustful intentions, said with heavy purpose, "remember. It's not a bet anymore. No rules. Just no sex."

Cuddy did not indicate that she heard him until after he shut the door behind his exit, a small smile playing at the corners of her full lips.

**_Day Three:_**

He took a big bite of his sandwich in order to deliberately escape having to answer her incessant questioning. Giving up, she relaxed against him and, drawing his hand to her with her own gentle touch, took an equally impressive bite of the sandwich. Sitting there, chewing in silence, they both allowed themselves to relax.

If she had to be honest with herself, Cuddy found she was giving the conversation of the previous day far too much thought for her own good. It troubled her that he wanted to be away from her for so long, yet she did not even know if that was what he was after. As hard as she tried, she could not figure out his reasoning. He had won the bet, yet he decided his winnings would be to continue as if she had not given in to her need for him. There were a number of meanings she could derive from such an act, but each one felt so uncharacteristic of the misanthropic House that she could not honestly believe them. Until he told her what he was planning, all she could do was go through each day as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Not surprisingly, it was a task much more difficult than she had imagined.

Cuddy had come to House's office with the intention of yelling at him about a patient he had treated. Or rather, a patient whose chart he had glanced at and had deemed too commonplace for his full attention. A scribbled prescription and a set of orders for the nurses left the patient without a physician, something that the Dean of Medicine frowned upon in her hospital. Her bad timing, however, had led to her finding him eating his lunch and reclining on the long chair in his office. Despite her best efforts, her administrative powers held no sway over him, and eventually she had resorted to less professional measures.

She sat on him.

He had pulled her into a more comfortable position next to him, and the two fell into a peaceful, contemplative silence after her final attempt to chastise him failed. Swallowing the last of her mouthful, she turned her face towards his, which he angled down to her so that their noses were touching. He nodded, breaking the brief contact.

"You look a lot better today," he said, not polite enough to wait until his mouth was empty to speak, "how do you feel?"

"One hundred percent, actually," she said, sliding down and away from his face and resting her head against his shoulder. Her chin was settled in the space near his arm pit, a small crook created by the position of his arm and the arch of his shoulder a perfect place to rest her chin without straining her neck as she stared up at him. From this angle she could see the darkness of his eyes and the line of his forehead prominently, "you, however, look like you're getting sick. Did I give it to you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Wantonly transmitting diseases to people. You should be ashamed."

"Maybe you should take the rest of the day off?" she offered placatingly, feeling truly responsible for it despite his teasing, "relax so you don't get worse?"

"I can't," he said, shifting to clear the remains of his lunch from his lap. He was sprawled out on the long chair, lazily reclined with a patient's folder atop his legs as a makeshift table. She moved to accommodate him, though he stopped her from standing by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. Without actively thinking about it, she swung her leg over him and, perched on his lap, straddled him. The glass doors to his office hardly seemed to bother her as she bent closer to him, her fingers gripping his collar and lifting him ever so slightly towards her. He kept his face expressionless, though, his eyes watched her lips with extreme interest, "I have patients to take care of."

"Do you? Oh, well then, I know how devoted you are to personally treating your patients," She kissed his lips lightly, tantalizingly, then let their foreheads meet as she arched her neck to draw her lips back. He was slightly warm with what had to be the start of a fever. Climbing down from him and the chair, she sighed, shaking her head, "don't work too hard."

**_Day Four / Five:_**

The ringing of the phone brought Cuddy from sleep, the sound piercing her ears and exploding behind her eyes with such brutal force she reeled for a moment, stunned and unable to find the source of the clamor. At length her hands, blinded by the darkness of the room, found the phone and she pulled it from the hook, answering with a gruff bark that might have been her own name if she had been paying more attention to the articulation of her words. Rubbing her eyes with her freehand, she blearily reached for her alarm clock, turning it so the dim light of its digital display was cast over her bed sheets. Four seventeen in the morning; two hours and three minutes after she had finally managed to come home after a long day at the hospital.

She had half a mind to inform the person on the line of their grievous error in judgment for calling her so early, but her common sense won out over her irritation. It had to be important. Forcing herself awake, she sat up and cleared her throat, trying for a second time to initiate the conversation.

"This is Doctor Cuddy, who is this?"

"You got me sick."

Slumping back into her pillows and bed sheets, Cuddy expelled a profound sigh. Her sleepiness, driven away by the sudden thought of urgency, drifted back to her, bringing with it irritation and a thick layer of grumpiness that painted her words. Running a hand through her thick, tousled hair, she let herself get comfortable once more.

"You got yourself sick," she said, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, as if planning to go to sleep regardless of the conversation she was currently involved in. she recalled how miserable he had been through out the day, and how she had managed to stay away from him for the most part.

"I took care of you!"

"It's four in the morning, House. What do you want?"

"Come over."

Cuddy opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling above her. She considered his request, her silence telling him he was not completely hopeless. She had work in the morning, the same shift he was scheduled for. She could not afford to miss another day, nor could she tolerate being late again. Her convictions told her to ignore his plea, telling her he could not possibly be that sick, but her fondness for him kept her from simply hanging up.

"I can't and you know that. Why are you calling so damn early?"

"I knew you'd be home."

"But not awake."

"A better chance of you agreeing," he sneezed and she rolled her eyes. He seemed to pick up on her reaction, adding, "don't be heartless: I took care of you, remember?"

"So what, I owe you?" she was smiling despite herself, pulling the sheets from over her and moving to the edge of the bed. Her mind turned over the idea of just paying him a visit, to see how sick he really was, or if he was looking for a different kind of company. Yet once again rational thought told her she needed her sleep, that the staff around the hospital would not be considerate of her tardy mornings and bad attitudes for much longer. Groaning into the phone as she reached her decision, she said, "no, sorry, House. You're going to have to suck it up and get through it. I'll let you off work tomorrow, how's that? And I'll swing by after to check on you."

He was still a moment before his voice, thick and mysterious, crackled over the line, "you'll take care of me?"

She grinned, even as she moved to return the phone to its home.

"You might get lucky."

**_Day Five:_**

The water ran over her hands and washed the soap from the dishes she was cleaning, leaving the plates and silverware sparkling. A thin cloud of steam rose from the heated water, leaving her hands slightly red as she used the sponge to disengage the last of the clinging remains of their dinner. There was something soothing in hand washing dishes and, because she rarely had the experience, she reveled in how serene simply standing in the kitchen of his apartment, putting plates back in the cupboards they belonged to, really was. She took her time in finishing the task, drying her hands on the cloth she had been using to dry the dishes before returning to the living room.

House was resting on the sofa, sprawled out with his bad leg propped on the arm of the couch while his other dangled off the side. One of his hands was on the floor, the other behind his head. His eyes were closed but he was not asleep, his breathing shallow and impatient as he waited for his guest to return to him.

A proud man, he had ignored Cuddy's suggestion to stay home and instead persevered through a morning of clinic duty. His symptoms progressed, with the stress and the added danger of prolonged exposure to other sick people, leading Cuddy to eventually force him to leave. He had only done so because she threatened to have the security guards forcibly remove him from the property in order to keep patients safe from his contamination. It was a bit much, and both of them knew it. Some hours later, Cuddy had arrived at his doorstep, offering peace, explaining that it was her lunch break and she thought she would check up on him.

He was grateful, but hardly allowed her to see it.

"I'm hot," he moaned, his voice hoarse. Cuddy kneeled beside him, placing her hand to his forehead, and then looking at him with an expression that, in any other situation, would have made him proud to know her. It was devoid of any sympathy, almost bored and not compassionate in the least.

"You barely have a fever anymore, House. I don't think you were ever as sick as you pretended to be, you attention whore."

"That is really no way to treat the ill, Doctor Cuddy. Honestly, where did you learn your bed manners from?"

She looked at him pointedly, amusement seeping into the arch of her eyebrows, "the same place as you."

"Touché."

She ran her hand through his hair, playing with the scruffy curls tenderly. He watched her serenely, his expression impassive. Thoroughly wrapped in the sweetness of the moment, Cuddy failed to stop his hand as it progressed down her back, fingers walking along her spine until they found her rather voluptuous backside, accentuated by the way she was stooped. His grip surprised her, and she, laughing and almost childishly squealing to get away, grabbed at his hand. He kept his grip and, to her surprise, let his weight shift just enough to lunge at her, the two of them falling in a mass of writhing, confused body parts to the floor. He was heavy on top of her, his chest heaving against hers as he laughed. Sharing a sigh, they locked eyes, Cuddy pinned beneath him as he stared down at her.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a full, explosive kiss that nearly knocked him senseless. He explored the taste of her mouth, savoring each sensation while pushing for more. He rolled her to her side, so that he could be on the floor with her rather than letting her keep his weight atop her frame. The movement had little affect on their passionate embrace and locked lips, the two finding almost everything they needed from the other in that one incredible moment.

He pulled away, leaving her panting but not without knowing why. She remembered his request, and, with a sigh, squeezed his arm in a silent effort to let him know they would not get too far. He looked at her, barely able to contain himself, words he had never before imagined he was capable of pronouncing fighting to escape his throat. She saved him the agony of picking which to say first, diverting his thoughts away from their irresistible attraction.

Getting to her feet, she said, "it was sweet of you to come to work just to see me, but really, you shouldn't have risked getting worse." Accepting her proffered hand and using her as a counter balance as he got up and then returned to the sofa, he left room enough beside him for her to sit down. She did and he put his arm around her shoulders lazily. He kissed the top of her head, holding her close without looking at her as she continued, "you better not get me sick again."

**_Day Six:_**

Another long day at the hospital left Cuddy feeling sore and completely spent, physically and emotionally. All she wanted to do was go to her home, take a bath and then go to bed. No thoughts of lingering obligations to the job, of entertaining company, or even of feeding herself entered into her plans. It was late in the evening, the sun long set, and she was ready to join it in sleep. Pulling her coat about her shoulders, she made her way to the door of her office, paying more attention to her footsteps than where they were actually leading her. A second pair of feet came into her line of sight, and she lifted her head to find House waiting for her.

He looked scruffy and discontent, a crease in his forehead giving his bad mood away. But, for all that, he looked much better than he had the past few days. Cuddy was glad to see that, having long been recovered from her stint in illness and impatiently waiting for House to follow her lead. She wondered for a moment, smiling as she approached him, if his request would have been for a shorter amount of time had he not felt himself getting sick.

"Going home?" she asked him as he fell into step beside her, his limp not affecting his ability to keep up with her pace.

"I hope not. At least, not to mine," he said coyly. She scoffed and shook her head, sighing a laugh while privately entertaining the innuendo in his voice. They walked together in relative silence, neither really knowing how to follow up that joke and then finding themselves trapped in an impenetrable quiet after his quip had lost all of its bearing and potency. They were in the garage, almost to Cuddy's car, when House stopped abruptly and waved in parting.

"The week is up tomorrow," he called as he escaped, moving back towards his motorcycle. Cuddy watched him go, arching an eyebrow and wondering what he had planned for her, and for himself. Unlocking her car, she let out an audible grumble and climbed into the driver's seat.

The roar of a motorcycle engine and the peel of its wheels as it lurched into motion told her she would just have to wait for her answers.


	18. Chapter 18: How Far We've Come

**Boy, this took longer than I thought. Sorry if it's jumbled! Things will all be made clear soon. I hope. O.o **

**I did go to Disneyland in between sections of this chapter, so that... probably doesn't help. **

**Thank you all for putting up with my inability to be timely! Please, keep the reviews coming. I love knowing people are still out there.  
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**How Far We've Come**

The view from the top of the hospital was nothing short of breath taking. Ironically, whenever Lisa Cuddy escaped to the roof from the chaos of the hospital it was to grab a breath of fresh air, which was immediately stolen from her as her deep blue eyes swept over the landscape below.

It wasn't beautiful in a natural sense. There were green things, of course. Rows of trees. A park here and there. Something akin to wilderness beyond the city limits, far into the horizon. It was beautiful because it was thriving. As artificial was it was, it was the purest example of life she had ever seen. There were side walks and stop lights, cars and stores. The air smelled of faintly of exhaust, and sounds of impatient drivers leaning on their horns drifted up to her ears more commonly than the song of a bird. From atop the hospital she was witness to the daily hustle of suburban life, and it was surprisingly blissful. Being in the midst of it, struggling to wave down a taxi or fighting for a spot at the cross walk, was chaotic and stressful, yet watching these same situations from high up was as relaxing as staring out across any expanse of undisturbed nature. She saw the best and worst of people, the fascinating, unguarded moments that made her understand why she was so dedicated to saving these lives.

This morning the Dean of Medicine was taking a short break from the hellish bombardment of clerical errors and doctors pushing the limits of her patience that had made up her day so far. To relax she was watching with some interest the entrances and exits of coffee goers in a small café across the street from the hospital. It wasn't a busy morning for them, yet there was enough business for Cuddy to people gaze without too many gaps. There was largely nothing interesting about these people. Business men grabbing a latte before some important meeting. Joggers cheating on their diets by sneaking in and grabbing a cookie. At the moment a small family, a mother and daughter, were entering the café. The mother held the door open for the daughter, then entered and let the door closed behind them.

Sighing, Cuddy glanced down at the pager she was gripping rather tightly in her hand. If she had been paged there was no chance of her missing it, yet she checked the display just in case. She had sent Doctor House a page to meet her on the roof. Twenty minutes later he had not bothered to grace her with his presence, and she, as stubborn as she often accused House of being, refused to send him another summons. If he didn't want to take a moment of calm with her, she would gladly keep it for herself.

Her eyes drifted towards the quaint coffee shop once more. A smile flickered on the corner of her soft lips, her chest warming at the sight of the young girl returning to the door. Her mother was sitting by the window, watching protectively with an amused expression on her loving face. The young child, no more than six, mustered all the strength in her small body to push the door open. An older couple was coming into the café then, and the little girl held the door open for them. They nodded and thanked the adorable child as they entered, laughing towards the mother, who praised her child for her good manners. The little girl, though slow when it came to getting the door open, continued to hold the door for those coming into and leaving the shop while her mother finished her drink.

Cuddy was leaning on the small wall that barricaded the edge of the roof, completely absorbed in the antics of the young girl and the reactions of the patrons. She did not doubt that the girl was not being polite so much as copying what she had witnessed her mother do, but that fact made her actions no less endearing. The sweet child laughed whenever she was thanked, ducking her head and waving her arm without coordination in an effort to shy away from the strangers that were smiling at her. The Dean of Medicine was lost in the scene below, watching as if it were a movie while at the same time aware that these were real people, and moments like this were common in their lives.

She was troubled, and the escapism of peeking into the lives of others only partially distracted her from that.

A firm hand gripped her hip, attempting to startle her. Somehow, she was not surprised, or even taken too far out of her daydreaming. Disappointment pricked the air as the hand was removed, and House appeared beside her. He mimicked her position on the wall, his hand furthest from her occupied with one too many cups of coffee. She did not look at him as he slid a cup towards her, though she accepted the drink graciously.

"Enjoying the show?" He asked, following her gaze towards the street. He could not pinpoint what exactly had her so captivated, the small family having just left the café. Her sigh told him she was disheartened by something, though; his ego did not allow him to think it had anything to do with his arrival, "what were you watching?"

"Nothing, really," Cuddy turned away from the café, leaning back against the railing and inspecting the coffee she was presented. It seemed to be what she would have ordered for herself, but with House there was no telling what it really was. She trusted him, of course, yet ever with that trust was a lingering anxiety. She smiled, taking a sip, "Just getting a breath of fresh air. I paged you almost a half hour ago."

"Yes, you did."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. It was clear that he was not going to offer any reason for why he kept her waiting, so she wouldn't bother asking. For the moment, a duel of sarcastic comments was not what she wanted. Some things, however, are unavoidable. House, not appreciating being ignored, fixed her with an accusatory glance, searching her face with a critical air.

"We're beginning to get complaints about a creepy person that stares lustfully at the pedestrians as they pass our hospital. I've kept your name out of it, but it's only a matter of time before the restraining orders start floating in," he shock his head woefully, judging her. Drinking from his cup while feigning forced nonchalance, House let out a profound sigh.

"What's the matter, House? I thought you were into voyeurism?"

"Believe me, if there was anything voyeuristic about this I would be right up here beside you, watching everyday. But watching normal people doing normal things? That's… that's just weird." He casually tapped his cane against her foot, crossing it over his legs to reach. There was something soothing in the gesture, something neither could identify.

Pacified, Cuddy let the silly conversation drop and adopted a more serious tone, "how's clinic duty going?"

"As fun as ever. I had this guy in today, complaining of bowel irritation. Small guy, too. Probably your height. Still, you wouldn't believe what he had managed to do with his partner the night before. Honestly, if these men want to have that kind of fun they can go right ahead, but is it really that surprising that their ass is agonizingly sore the next morning-"

"I shouldn't have asked," her sigh conveyed her irritation, "At least you're treating patients."

"Not that guy. I sent him home with a prescription for lube and the suggestion that if he wants to store things back there he'd better make sure they're smaller than his fist," House looked at her, his expression pained, "the grin he gave me was shattering. I'll never get the way he said 'maybe your fist' out of my head."

Cuddy laughed, shaking her head without pitying him in the slightest. It was all a part of their jobs, dealing with strange people and awkward injuries. They were better off not complaining about it, not thinking about it, and thus not taking it home with them. There was always a time requirement before retrospect could make such stories entertaining for use at parties or dinners.

House drew a deep breath and suddenly the entire mood shifted. He let his coffee cup stand on the railing and took a step away, unhooking his cane from his arm and leaning on it as he looked Cuddy over. Self conscious, Cuddy guarded herself by turning her shoulder away from him, presenting him her side. She drank liberally from her coffee, staring at the rim of the lid as House loomed beside her.

"It's been a week, hasn't it?" he asked casually. Already knowing the answer, he shrugged his shoulders and let the topic drop.

Something told Cuddy her moment had just arrived. The words were crowded in the back of her throat, refusing to be enunciated. She watched him, taking in the way his piercing blue eyes fell over her in the silence, fighting the way their bodies were drawn inexorably closer. Closing her eyes, she took her own deep breath and garnered House's full attention.

"I took a pregnancy test this morning-"

His reaction was not what she had been expecting, and happened before she could even finish her sentence. Granted, it was futile to try to predict the movements of Gregory House, but Cuddy had some faith in her ability to read him. It was broken in that moment, when she realized how much change she had given him credit for, and how very little actually ever occurred. She had imagined that their new relationship meant as much to him as it did to her. She could have sworn she had seen it in him, in all the sweet little things he had done, and in all the ways he had held her. Right then, however, she had a sudden, agonizing stab of doubt. He moved away from her, arching his eyebrow almost comically. Whatever he was gearing up to say, it was not going to make her happy.

"Is it mine?"

"Greg," she said, shooting him a withering glare. It was a warning shot, and would have been effective if her target had been anyone else. House let it glance off, blinking slowly before waving his hand.

"I'm not the only person you've slept with recently," there was nothing in his tone to tell her if he was joking or not.

"But you are the only one who didn't use a condom," she snapped back, placing her coffee cup firmly on the barricade and turning away sharply. She ignored the burn of the liquid that had managed to escape the lid and slide down to her fingers. Chewing on her lower lip in frustration, she felt House close the gab between them. He was standing at her side, just behind her shoulder, towering over her slight frame and staring at her with eyes, she could only assume, that were burning with conflict. She did not turn around to see if she was correct.

"So what?" His voice was demanding, "you're mad at me because I got you pregnant? Because you're having a child? Now correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you once come to me to help you get pregnant? And, now I might be making this up, but didn't you barge into my office one night with every intention of asking me to father your child?" At that she turned on him, staring up at him in disbelief. They were uncomfortably close, the heat between them searing straight through her skin. She wanted to leap away from him, but that would have, quite literally, been suicide.

"And didn't you tell me that I would suck at being a mother?" their voices were beginning to echo off the rooftop.

"What the hell do I know about it?" To her surprise, House was roaring at her. He limped away from her, leaning heavily on his cane as he stomped in a small circle, unable to make eye contact with her. Furious at his rage, she watched him keenly. They were suddenly two animals, reacting on impulse, just waiting to rip the others throat out. How they had managed to get to this point in such a short amount of time, with so few words between them, neither had any idea. And in that moment, neither gave it a thought.

"That's exactly it, House," Cuddy returned with equal ferocity, stepping towards him only to take a sidestep back, "you don't know anything about it. Yes. I wanted to get pregnant. I want to. I want to have a little girl, House, that I can teach to hold the door open for people when we go out," she gestured towards the café over the brim of the railing, but House did not understand this. He continued to seethe, not interrupting. She began to pace in a small oval, shaking her head and gesturing with her hands.

"House… you have no idea. You really, truly don't. I'm not pregnant, you idiot. You forgot to check in with me on that one when you were leaping to your conclusions about my sexual deviances. But, honestly, it didn't have a chance to get through to you anyway, considering how blinded you are by your assumptions about what I want for myself. You just thought you'd build my future for me? Break my relationship with Kevin up. Give me a baby. And then what? Stay with me forever? Raise a family?

"We can _barely_ stand each other. There is so much passion between us, sometimes I think I might be insane for jumping into this relationship. I stop and I wonder how we can possibly make something real, when we are so busy with the physicality of it all we avoid the depth of emotional commitment that a family must have. House, we're amazing together. We really are. I've never had more fun. I hate you so much, but I can't breathe without you. I love everything about how broken you are, and how perfect you are. Your infuriating arrogance and impossible talent. Everything.

"But how can we possibly raise a child? I mean, was that your plan? For us, together, to have a child? And this stupid bet gave you that window? Honestly, I did not see that coming. I never would have suggested…" her tone was softening, her heart still racing, "I know it doesn't make sense, but… I just don't think we're at a place where we two can be mother and father to a child. A baby… that's such a sacred and beautiful thing. Bringing a life into this world should be approached with nothing but love. Not just for each other, but for the child as well. When I wanted to get pregnant on my own, I was more than willing to give that child all of my love. To raise it alone. Even if I did consider asking you… back then, before all this, I would never have asked you to be an active participant. I imagined raising it alone regardless, and I know that's selfish. But everything is so different now. I'm just… lost."

House watched her, his eyes glistening with such intensity it took Cuddy's breath away. She had somehow managed to get herself close to him once more, her hands on the lapel of his jacket, her knuckles white as she gripped him desperately. He looked down at her and, with gentle firmness, eased her back from him. He said nothing until he was at the door to the stairwell back into the hospital. He did not look back at her. He leaned on his cane, staring down the flights of stairs as he held the door open for himself.

"For the bet," he said, his voice as normal as it ever was, "I want you to figure out what you want. And then, if you're feeling generous, go ahead and let me know."

Cuddy watched him leave, not bothering to say anything after him. There were no words to stop him. The door closed and she felt as if the strings of tension that had been holding her up through their battle had suddenly been cut. She leaned her hands against the barrier around the roof, eyes tightly shut, her arms shaking under the strain. Her hand shot out as she rocked back on her feet, shifting her weight so she could strike the coffee cup before her with as much force as she could possibly muster. It flew toward the street below, floating despite the vicious smack, its contents raining down around it.

She honestly had no idea what had just happened, or how she had managed to destroy the most meaningful relationship she had ever known.


	19. Chapter 19: Punch In Punch Out

**Finally got chapter 19 done! Let me know what you think. Heh.**

**Chapter 20 has -already been started-.**

**It won't take a month this time. Probably.  
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**Punch In Punch Out**

Gregory House was not drunk. In fact, he was so far from being drunk he still had a perfectly steady grip on his own reality, as well as each inhibition in place, and an attitude as dour as any sober man in a bar could possibly expect. His utter sobriety was made all the more poignant by the fact that it had been his goal to be as drunk as human tolerance would allow in as short a time period as could be managed. Since entering the bar, however, he had been nursing the same beer for over two hours, and had somehow only managed to drain the bitter liquid to just above the label. Not even half empty. There was a metaphor there that House did not attempt to decipher. As he attempted to take another sip from his bottle, the reason behind his inability to attain inebriation distracted him once more.

It was Cuddy. She would not leave him alone. Though his pager and cell phone was completely silent, she continued to harass his thoughts and nag at him as if she were standing right behind him. He was furious with her, for her inconsistency and how she had been stringing him along.

Their conversation on the roof replayed in his mind, looping endlessly. He could vividly recall every word that had been spoken, every look she had given him: from sweet beginning to miserable end. Her voice was still clear in his mind, allowing him to dissect even the slightest of changes in note or tone. The more he thought about it, the more meaning he found in everything they had said, until he found himself sitting on a pile of insight and understanding that had no real bearing on his search for a solution. All he really wanted to do was find himself a good enough reason to go back to her, and a loophole in her confessions to him that would allow him to insert himself back into her good praises, and thus back into her company.

He was not a fool. Well aware of how solitary his life was, House had never attempted to deceive himself with any false pretenses of happiness. He was a miserly bastard that people instinctively did not like. There were friendships he valued, and people he respected, but he did not allow himself to connect to any one too deeply. Things changed. People were never the same from one day to the next. It simply was not worth the time and effort to invest in adjusting to these subtleties of human existence for others: he had enough trouble keeping up with himself. If one of his chosen few grew angry with him, he developed ways to lumber on without them, until they came back to him or until enough time had passed that whatever had parted them no longer seemed important.

Yet, despite how obvious his singular life had been to him, he had never been quite as aware of how lonely he truly was before sitting at that bar with that one beer.

Heaving a profound sigh, House rolled his eyes at his own pitiful train of thought and rocked back on his stool. It balanced on its back legs precariously, his grip on the side of the bar the only thing keeping him from falling backwards. His cane was leaning against the face of the bar beside him, but he would not have time to grab it if the stool moved from under him. It would do him no good, anyway. Unheeding of how dangerous his positioning was, he released the bar with one of his hands to reach for the tray of peanuts sitting nearby. He dropped a handful into his mouth, thinking about how if they had any alcoholic content to them he would be completely smashed by this time. The bartender had already refilled his bowl four times.

It was strangely easy for him to admit to himself that he wasn't actually mad at Cuddy. He was angry with circumstance and diction, ultimately. What upset him the most was how little he understood his current situation, not even able to trace his history and find how he had managed to end up in so disconcerting a place. It didn't help that Cuddy had managed to say everything he wanted to hear, as well as everything he did not. As convoluted as she made him feel, he imagined she had a right to say most of it. She had been wrong, of course, about his intentions. As far as he consciously knew, anyway.

And that was not much.

A voice stirred him from his wandering, circular thoughts. It repeated itself three times before House actually recognized the language as English, and the words as coherent.

"Do you mind if I sit here, Doctor House?"

House sighed. He recognized the voice immediately, and just as soon found himself longing for the loneliness that Cuddy so generously introduced him to. This other acquaintance she brought into his life was far less enjoyable.

"Officer Young," House said gruffly as the man settled himself beside the doctor at the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, House noted a wave of the hand, a signal for a beer from the bartender. Apparently Young was local at this particular establishment. A note House would be sure not to forget in the future, "I'm pretty sure I didn't say you could join me."

"Misery loves company?" Kevin offered almost apologetically, "even if you don't."

"You don't know me very well," House said. He did not elaborate, or even give so much as a scoff to indicate if there was deeper meaning to be found, or if there was some sort of private joke attached. Kevin did not pry. The bartender, with a genial smile, handed Kevin a beer. The two exchanged a pointless conversation of obligatory niceties, and then the bartender wandered away to attend a far less polite patron, who was revisiting the ingredients of his dinner over the counter of the serving bar.

House forced silence on the two of them. The aura House radiated was oppressive, nearly forcing Kevin into a submissive quiet. He was respectfully aware of how incredibly bitter the doctor was, even against his misanthropic reputation. This was House in a bad mood. Kevin, though he and House had a number of encounters between them, doubted he had experience enough to handle House in this kind of a frame of mind. Still, once he realized the doctor was here, and had gathered the courage to approach and sit down, he could not easily escape. Not if he wanted to preserve a modicum of pride. Taking a short swig of his beer, he dared to glance in House's general direction.

"Not having a good day, huh?"

"You must have been one hell of an investigator," House said, nothing bit his lips moving in response to Kevin's frail attempt at conversation. His eyes did not even flicker, and no trace of interest passed over his face. The acid in his voice was more than enough to tell his company how unwanted he was, "the pride of the force. I can't imagine why they let you go."

Kevin laughed, though House ignored how honest it was. To be using as much sarcasm as humanly possible in every single word he enunciated, yet still fail to disengage Kevin from conversation only managed to worsen his mood. Kevin, on the other hand, was more than happy to reply to anything, so long as House bothered to speak. A man on a mission, Kevin shook his head and turned the stool he was sitting on slightly towards House.

"Actually, I left the force. But what brings you here? Not working tonight?" House did not reply, having caught on to Kevin's scheme. Kevin simply changed tactics. Allowing for a lengthy pause, he added an after thought casually, "How's Lisa?"

It took House a moment to formulate a reply. His gut reacted instinctively, but he kept his fist from breaking Kevin's face. That was not the best action, his common sense told him. Particularly because he would be damned if he were thrown out of the bar before finishing one whole beer. His fists clenched and his jaw tightened, but no other physical display of agitation slipped by his force of will. Emitting an inarticulate grumble to fill the dead air as he considered a better response, House shifted his gaze to Kevin. The former police officer was waiting patiently, slightly guarded, his calm eyes scrutinizing House as fiercely as House was him. Rolling his shoulders back, House shook his head despite how tense his neck suddenly felt.

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess? Haven't you seen her recently? I mean, I guess you both have pretty busy schedules. Do you know how she got on with that cold? I meant to check in, but I didn't… think it would be appropriate," Kevin took a long swallow of his beer and, though neither man noticed, surpassed House in the amount of alcohol consumed that evening. He drew a deep sigh, giving up on his attempt at tact, "look, obviously you and Lisa have hit some sort of a bump. Why don't you just talk to me about it? I know I'm the last guy you probably want to see, let alone get personal with, but I think I can understand where you're coming from at this point. I promise, I'm not trying to win her back. Anything you tell me… I won't use it as 'inside information' and blackmail you with it, or anything like that."

"You talk an awful lot," House said, reaching for his cane and getting ready to abandon his station at the bar, "for someone who really has nothing important to say. You're just asking because you miss her, and you want me to tell you she was wrong for leaving you. That it would have been easier for her if she hadn't chosen to get involved with me. I'm afraid what I just said is the closest you're going to get to that." He pushed away from the bar, standing and leaning on his cane as he searched his pocket for some cash.

Kevin paid for both his beer and House's with a bill far too large for it. At least now House knew why the bartender had taken such special care to speak with the former officer of the law. Despite that, House put his own money on the counter. Kevin cleared his throat with a commanding air, "Listen. I know you're an ass hole. I know you like to play to that as much as possible, and I know you hate people. Fantastic for you. Have fun with that. But right now, I'm just trying to see if Lisa is happy. That doesn't mean in this moment. Fights happen. What I want to know is how happy she'll be once this fight, whatever it is, is over. Or are you so pissed off that you're too proud to allow that to happen?"

House finally looked Kevin directly in the face, the two men standing within arm swinging distance of the other. Grunting, a bitter attempt at a disdainful laugh, House reached for Kevin's bottle of beer. Kevin watched him, passive yet knowing better than to trust him.

"You're a janitor now, right?" House said, proffering the bottle. Kevin did not reach for it, and was proved smart for that choice. House did not drop it so much as throw it at the floor. It shattered with a loud crash, causing the noise in the bar to fall from a dull roar to a hushed mumble. Eyes turned towards them and behind them the bartender reached carefully for a weapon he kept under the bar. He would not tolerate a brawl in his tavern, even if the two battlers had just left him two very generous tips. House ignored everyone around them, focusing solely on Kevin. He pointed to the floor as he spoke, "maybe it'll be better for you to stop investigating a matter that does not concern you and just stick to mindlessly cleaning. I think that's a job better suited for you, anyway."

Kevin let out a breath, relieved to simply be insulted, rather than assaulted with a broken bottle. He watched House limp away. He let House get a bit of a lead on him, turning to the bartender and issuing an apology before chasing after the man with the crippled leg. He caught up to House in the parking lot, jogging to cut off his path by stopping in front of him.

"Get out of my way, Kev."

"Why are you acting like I'm the one that wronged you? I've done nothing by try to take this whole situation in stride. I mean, you're the one that, pretty much, stole my girlfriend right from under me. You seduced her and slept with her while she and I were_ technically_ still dating. And you've been an ass to me, even though I'm just trying to help you out. Okay, I get it. Lisa is yours and I have no right to her. Whatever, man."

Kevin stood with his arms folded over his broad chest, his shirt just tight enough to show he had not slacked off in his work out regimen since leaving the police force. He was a tall, handsome, strong man that was fiercely loyal to those he felt endeared to, and unafraid of standing up for what he thought was right. House, in comparison, was a bowed, graveled man with a crippled leg and a extreme distaste for anything that required compassion. He was strong willed and intelligent, but somehow Kevin seemed a match for him. Kevin was subdued and thoughtful, where House was obvious in his superiority. The two were destined to clash. Where House was the obvious victor in a game of wits between the two, he doubted he could out muscle the man.

Words, it seemed, were his only tool available to help him escape to his motorcycle.

"I did not steal her. We reached a place where we could meet. You just happened to be in the picture at the time. Sucks for you, but you had no chance. I still don't think you have any idea how long she and I have been at this stupid game of ours. And I'm not going to tell you about it. I'm sorry you got your precious feelings hurt, okay? But you're not my friend. And you're not really her friend, either. So why don't you just take the hint and leave us alone?"

"Because I don't think Lisa would appreciate being left to deal with you all on her own."

All the effort he had poured into being rational seemed to vanish as House locked eyes with Kevin. An explosion of electrical fire made it seem as if there had never been any such effort at all. Before even House was aware of his movements the doctor was three steps into an attack. He lunged for Kevin, cane supporting him entirely, his right fist connecting with brutal force against Kevin's chin. To his surprise, and Kevin's, the larger man stumbled backward as the power behind the blow stunned him senseless. He maintained his footing however, not giving House much room to get around him. Struggling to keep himself upright, his cane betraying him as he put too much pressure on it, House quickly realized he was in an extremely vulnerable position. To compensate, he pulled himself backwards, stumbling far enough away to put some good distance between him and the man he had attack. He swung his cane at Kevin's head but missed. Instead of striking the hard skull of Kevin's head, he felt the cane connect with the far less satisfying softness of the janitor's shoulder. Still, it was enough to give House time to back away.

Or it would have, had Kevin not gotten such a good grip on House's arm.

Kevin took control of the brawl then, yanking House towards him with one hand while balling the other into a tight fist and smashing it against the side of House's face. The doctor felt his jaw shudder violently, ears popping as he crashed gracelessly to the floor. He tasted the acidic, coppery bite of blood in his mouth. For a moment his vision was too jumbled for him to distinguish floor from sky. It did not deter him from trying to stand, but it did deter gravity from helping him accomplish his noble mission. He fell down three times before a heavy hand on his shoulder pulled him to his feet. Instinct made him struggle, fists flying. There were a couple of blows he was sure he landed, grunts confirming them, but to what and how effective they were he could not fathom. He was wrestled back to the floor soon enough, Kevin pinning him down face first, arms secured behind him as Kevin used his knee against House's back to keep him immobile. It seemed his training was still with him.

"Stop being an idiot and listen," Kevin said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He did not leave House enough time to force a comment in, regardless, "you love her you _fucking_ moron. So stop pretending you're better than something as so stupidly simple as that. And what the hell is wrong with bringing a woman flowers? You're mad at me because you have no idea how to handle a real relationship. Once you take down the walls you can't hide behind that vile, caustic attitude of yours anymore. But that's the _point_. But whatever. That's it. You're on your own."

Before Kevin could finish speaking a flash of red and blue lights and a loud siren told him the bartender had called the police. The two enemies had probably scared the patrons of the bar, and it was only right that the emergency call be placed. Sighing, Kevin stood, leaving House on the floor, and turned as two officers carefully approached. Whatever tension they had in breaking up the fight was instantly dispelled as they recognized their former compatriot. They spoke for a while, in low voices, leaving House to struggle to his feet. By the time he had his cane under him, his senses by some degreed restored, the police were pulling out in their cars. Kevin had seen to it that neither of them got arrested for their public disturbance.

"You need to go home, House," Kevin said, sighing, "I convinced them not to take you in, and now I've got to go talk to the bartender and make sure he doesn't press charges against either of us. Get out of here."

Kevin left him then, favoring his jaw as he put his back to House. House watched him until he vanished into the bar. He then mounted his motorcycle, neglecting use of his helmet, and let the engine roar. The bike tore out of the parking lot, leaving skid marks and smoke in its wake.


	20. Chapter 20: Bad Case of Loving You

**This is it, guys! The last chapter! There's a bit of hotness ahead, and this is the only warning you're going to get.  
**

**Thank you all for sticking with this story, and giving me so much feedback! I really do appreciate it, and I can only hope I've done enough with this story to make at least a few of you happy. As much as I'm writing for myself, I'm also writing with you guys in mind. So this chapter is for all of you. I hope it's good enough.**

**Please, let me know what you think now that it's all said and done! Not just this chapter, but the thing as a whole. This is only my -second- completed chaptered Fan Fic, so I know there has to be a lot of places that need improvement. **

**Once again, thank you all for your continued support and reviews. I don't care what the stats say: to me, this is the most successful story I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of. **

**Thank you, thank you, thank you.  
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* * *

**Bad Case of Loving You**

Her day had not improved following her rooftop confrontation with House. The cold the two had shared had spurred an almost epidemic reaction in the staff, leaving the hospital alarmingly short handed. She had been forced to open the clinic past its regular hours in order to manage the overflow from the ER, as people who injured themselves wantonly seemed to be aware of their understaffed condition. In addition, she resigned herself to being on-call through out the day, her time on duty now extending well into the evening. With the more competent doctors distributed elsewhere, duties in the surgical and ICU wards as well as the main ER proving to be more challenging to manage than the individual specialties could handle, the clinic was left in the care of the younger, more inexperienced physicians.

The result of opening her pager up to any emergency call was not as she had expected. Or rather, it was exactly as she had expected with additional irritations. Not only did she spend her time bouncing between the ICU and ER, she was forced to devote an absurd amount of time answering summons from nervous doctors who simply were not confident in their ability to make decisions on their own. Nine times out of ten, clinic pages were blocks of wasted minutes, and the cases she was presented were as common place to her as a full garbage can was to a janitor. A hassle and something that needed to be addressed, but something anyone with the right knowledge could accomplish. Granted, patient treatments were not quite as simple as locating the nearest Dumpster, but the metaphor was sound.

By now, the Dean of Medicine was familiar with the numbers of the most useless members of her staff. If she was not ethically and contractually obligated to answer them, she would not bother. A man she knew very well would probably skip the ethics and throw his job security to the wind, and find himself a nice place to relax, with one incredibly interesting case in his lap. Even without him being there, she envied him.

Yet none of that seemed to matter as she attained what, for many house, had been an impossible fantasy: five minutes to herself. Letting the door to her office slam behind her, she took a moment to gaze across the distance to her desk. It seemed tragically far, her weary bones reacting with exaggerated vulnerability to the pull of gravity. The sofa was much closer, and thus the only real option. She collapsed onto the fainting couch, her arms and legs splayed over the edges of the compact divan due to bad aim and insufficient will to move into a more comfortable position. She was just happy to be horizontal: the specifics could be worked out at a later time. Drawing a deep breath, she anticipated the muscle relaxing sigh that was destined to follow. That blissful release was cut off, destroyed before it could work its stress relieving magic by the pager clipped to her belt. The rumbling and beeping forced an exacerbated grunt from her throat instead.

Obligation once again reared its ugly head, coupled with the innate desire to save lives. She was outmatched, the fleetingly hopeful idea of temporarily forgetting her Hippocratic Oath overcome. Begrudgingly she removed the vibrating clip from her belt and glanced down at the numbers it displayed. Nothing about the three pieces of information staring up at her was surprising.

A 911 page. The clinic. An intern infamous for paging well established doctors to double check every choice he made. It was not because he was unsure of himself, but rather he wanted to show off his remarkable ability under the pretense of striving for knowledge. She could not be held responsible for her actions if that were true of this plea.

She took her time rolling off the soft, welcoming cushion, which resulted in a second summons from the young doctor. A vague sense of urgency rose within the jaded Endocrinologist as she chided herself for breaking one of her own rules of conduct: always assume every page is an emergency, and answer appropriately. She continued to kick herself as she journeyed from her office to the root of the page.

When she found him she felt compelled to change the direction of her foot.

He was standing at the front desk, flirting with one of the nurses stationed there. He was very confident, grinning with suave innuendo as the nurse reddened. When he saw Lisa Cuddy coming their way, however, he became nothing more than a puddle of shuddering incoherence.

"D-D-Doctor C-Cuddy! I was, uh… it was – I'll go back to-"

Cuddy raised her hand to silence him, "Did you page me?" she watched him consider his answer, his eyes darting around as if searching for the backup he had somehow misplaced. Or had been abandoned by.

"N-nnnn…" he began, not certain if this was indeed the answer he wanted, "uh… no, Doctor Cuddy. Ma'am. I… I didn't."

"Are you sure about that? Before you answer, I just want to remind you, doctor," the way she emphasized it turned the generally respected title into one of the most hurtful insults he had ever been subjected to, "that your pager is not a play thing, and your peers are not your personal servants. Using an emergency page in a non-emergency situation is not only unethical, but against hospital policy. Repeated offense creates ground for dismissal. You do get chances there, however… to learn from your mistake. Lying to a hospital administrator, on the other hand, is not something so easily forgivable. So. I'll ask you again: did you page me?"

The young doctor looking lost, crushed, and desperate to escape. He opened his mouth, then closed it quickly and stared at her wide eyed. She arched an eyebrow expectantly and he opened his mouth again, "No Doctor Cuddy!" he said with a conviction he was not actually capable of maintaining, "I didn't, I swear! I tried to stop him, because I knew you'd get mad! I don't even have my pager right now! I mean, er… I know where it is… I was about to get it back but… it wasn't my idea! He just took it and…"

"Doctor House took your pager." It was not a question.

"Yeah… he threatened me with his cane… how… uhm…?"

"Of course he did. I'll get it for you. You just get back to work, and stop corrupting my nurses. Where is he?" The battered young doctor pointed to an exam room. The door was shut and the lights were off, telling Cuddy that the shaken man was telling the truth. The lights would not be off unless the clinic was closed and that, due to the hectic nature of the night, was not due to happen anytime soon. She moved away from the main desk and crossed to the exam room. Taking a moment to steady herself, she slowly turned the door know and entered the room.

For a moment she was blinded by the shift from the brightly lit to almost complete dark. The pain in her eyes was made even worse when a figure slid by her and shut the door. Before she could say anything sarcastic about the terrible lighting a familiarly rough hand fell on her arm.

"Doctor, I'm so glad you're here. I've been waiting for minutes."

"I'm sure. What do you think you're doing, hassling the interns? And why don't you turn on a light?" She was in no mood to play, her arms folded rigidly across her chest. She felt him beside her and turned to catch a shadowy profile before being blinded once more as he flicked the light switch. "Damn it, House!"

He walked away from her, leaving her to struggle against the ocular assault she had just endured on her own. She heard him take a seat on the examination table, his weight making the paper crackle. Blinking the figure before her into focus, she did not need perfect vision to recognize the cuts and bruises that had no business being on his face. He smiled at her pathetically, his messy hair and disheveled clothes giving him a hopelessly innocent appearance that Cuddy knew better than to trust. Still his affectionate eyes and tender expression disarmed her enough so that her body language softened. She let her arms fall to her side, swaying as she considered moving closer. Eventually she gave in to his magnetism, crossing to the examination table.

"What happened?" she asked, dreading the answer. House chewed on the injured part of his lip, prompting Cuddy to smack him lightly on the shoulder. He stopped and she touched his cheek, leaning closer to examine his bruised mouth. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he did his own examination of her beauty. He could feel her tremble under his gaze, her fingers tickling his face.

"Your ex-boyfriend, in a drunken rage, blind sided me with his righteous fury."

"You got in a fight with Kevin?" She hardly expelled any effort to see through his circular dialogue. He never said what he meant in plain text, but her prolonged exposure to this habit allowed her to see his true meaning. It was like learning a new language, and she was becoming fluent, "are you crazy? He was a police officer!"

"He still is, at heart," House sneered, "and fist."

"Well, it doesn't look like you've broken anything. Besides your pride, I'm sure. It'll just be ugly for a while. Do you want a scan, to be sure?"

"I trust your opinion, Doctor Cuddy."

"Good, then." She was caught by his strong hands before she could straighten up or move away. One fell on her arm, to dissuade her from breaking away, the other on her chin, fingers reaching around towards the back of her neck. He did not pull her closer, as she expected and was ready not to resist, but simply stared into her eyes passively. She felt a familiar fire flare to life inside her, burning through her entire body and making her writhe, her muscles contracting in defense of her initial reaction. She breathed deeply, taking him in and making everything worse, "this isn't part of the examination procedure, Mister House."

"It should be. You haven't treated me yet."

"There's really nothing I can do, really. Unless you want me to prescribe you ibuprofen and an ice pack. Though, I think you might have something stronger already in your possession." He did not reply, his eyes telling her what he wanted. "I could try an old, highly controversial method. A bit of folk lore in modern medicine never hurt anyone… or at least never killed anyone."

House nodded, accommodating her movement as she drew closer. The kiss was gentle. Neither the doctor nor the patient breathed. His hand found her neck, and then lost itself in her hair. Her soft fingers traced the graveled line of his chin, moving their lips together with such a subtle suggestion House hardly realized she was no longer paying his injury any attention. He had forgotten about it the moment their lips made contact. He leaned back, slowly, allowing her to follow the kiss by climbing on top of him. His hands assisted her, guiding her sensual body, though she knew exactly where she wanted to be. He was on his back, her light frame atop him, her legs straddling his hips. Her lithe back was arched, the growing intensity of their connection overpowering her desire for comfort. When their lips finally parted she say up, her thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she stared down at him.

"Feel better?"

"Much, but it's already wearing off. I think I'll need a more permanent treatment option. A prescription, maybe."

Cuddy smiled, coy and playful now that they had wordlessly apologized and forgiven each other. The simple complexity of their relationship aggravated and delighted her, entertainingly frustrating her to no end. Defeated, yet left with vivacity, she pushed down against his chest with the palm of her hands as she dismounted both him and the examination table. He sat up, following her movement, "how about I take two of you and check in with you in the morning?"

"I have to get back to work, House," she said, deflecting his flirtatious advance. He stood and moved to follow her, cutting her escape path off by beating her to the door and leaning back against it. She noted that his cane looked a bit dented, and he was clearly refraining from putting too much weight on it. It was not too difficult to imagine what had caused the damage. She hoped it had not connected to his opponent's head. Though, if it had, it probably hadn't mattered much. She knew how well Kevin was built, and how devoted he was to staying in peek physical condition. Raising her eyes to House's face, she tilted her head in warning, "I'm not kidding. One of us has to keep this place afloat. Since it certainly won't be you, it's going to have to be me. So get out of the way, and get your ass out of here before I sign you up for a shift."

He moved from the door. Cuddy watched him, doubting it would be as easy as that to escape the exam room. As he circled her he reached made sure to limp carefully, wary of his battle worn cane. His path narrowed and he moved closer to her, bringing his free arm up and wrapping it around her shoulders. To her surprise, he pulled her into a tight hug, his lips near her ear as he spoke softly.

"I'll wait for you."

Circling her lithe arms around him, she smiled, suddenly very relieved just to have him there. She could not imagine Kevin had ever meant to be a danger to him, but fights and bars did not amount to anything other than a recipe for disaster. She turned her face towards his, kissing him on the cheek before pulling aware and looking into his eyes.

"If you wait around here, you'll have to work. Oh, and I need that pager you stole." House handed her the small electronic item without having her barter for it, his hand lingering on hers. She sighed, dropping her hand and leaning away from him, toward the door, "you're making it very difficult to want to go back out there."

"You have to, Doctor Cuddy. It is your job after all."

"Thanks. I can always turn to you for moral reinforcement. I'll be off at two…" she let the invitation hang in the air, finally taking a step toward the door. Another step followed with more ease, and soon her hand was on the door knob, "I'm not kidding about making you work if you hang out here, though."

"Then I better find a different place to hang out."

Rolling her eyes, Cuddy opened the door and, with one last heavy glance in his direction, exited the room. She delivered the pager to its rightful owner with a warning about letting it out of his sight, then eased back into the chaos of the hospital. Somehow, in that exam room with the man who stole every ounce of her attention, she had not noticed the number of pages she had received. Catching up on them forced the night to speed by. The morning rolled around, and things slowed into a beautifully manageable pace. At last the clinic was closed, and the ER consolidated. Things in the ICU settled, as much as it could in a place where most of the patients were teetering on the edge of death, and the number of surgical cases dwindled to the point where not every surgeon was in an OR at the same time. Exhausted, but in a jovial mood, Cuddy exited the hospital and entered the chilly, dark parking lot.

She heard the rumble of another engine revving to life as she settled into her car, pulling the door shut and turning the key in the ignition. She had not been the only one trapped in a double shift, and so thought very little of the sound. The only thing on her mind, in fact, was the path to her front door. Easing her car out of the parking lot and onto the main road, she sighed, the very idea of repose tranquilizing her fried nerves. At an intersection red light she noted the bright headlight of a motorcycle behind her, moving across her rearview mirror until it was in a blind spot of the car. Moments later, the purring bike was beside the driver's side of the car, and she rolled down her window as the cyclist waved at her. He took off his helmet, eyes darting from her to the stop light. Cars pulled up behind them.

"Wait up for me," he called, indicating the green light that changed, in his opinion, far too quickly. She nodded, hardly liking the order, but unable to decline. He waved to her as she, at the urging of a horn behind them, drove off, then slipped his helmet on and eased it around a corner.

Not knowing where House had gone off to, or why he had waited for her all night just to tell her it was now her turn to wait for him, Cuddy completed the rest of her journey home with a dense air of confusion about her. Still, her house was soothingly quiet and cozy, and she could not help but feel the affects of her day weighing her down. He had told her to wait up for him, but she did not see the harm in allowing herself to unwind a bit. There was no telling how long he'd be, and she was in desperate need of comfort. So she went to her bedroom and changed into silky pajamas, then visited her kitchen for some refreshment. As long as she kept herself occupied she could distract herself from the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her.

She was sleeping soundly on the sofa, her legs tucked under her body while her arms made an uncomfortable substitute for pillows before ten minutes was up. There was a dull throbbing in her neck that infiltrated her dreams without drawing her from them. That honor was left to a loud pounding at her door. She jumped, her stiff neck aching instantly. Groaning, she tumbled off the sofa and stumbled gracelessly to the front door. None of her limbs seemed to be responding correctly to her muddled brains commands. Fortunately by the time she got the locks undone some of her waking cognition had been restored.

He looked dashing. He had exchanged his usual t-shirt and blazer for a suave, silky shirt and clean, maybe even new, slacks. He wore no tie, the top buttons near his collar left undone. He had combed his unruly hair and, though the difference was subtle, trimmed his scraggly beard. The soft, exciting scent of aftershave lingered on his neck. Even his injured lip seemed much better than when she had examined it some hours before. Cuddy was well aware of all these subtle difference because he pulled her closer to him, holding her in something that echoed the earlier hug, but at the same time was entirely new. She placed her hand on his chest, looking up into his face with a smile in her eyes that did not disquiet her serene expression.

Standing in her pajamas in the open doorway, she felt remarkably underdressed and exposed. But it did not matter. Glancing at his wrist watch, she cleared her throat.

"It's four in the morning, House. You woke me up."

"Not my fault. I asked you to wait up, and I do believe you agreed," he proffered her a bouquet of roses, smiling charmingly, "you going to let me in?"

"I'm debating." She accepted the flowers, slightly breathless, and took a step back. He moved around her, letting his hand slide down her arm until he could grasp her free hand. Both arms occupied, Cuddy quickly kicked the door closed as House lead her along with a coaxing tug. He took her into the living room, releasing her hand only to allow himself to turn around. Leaning on his cane, a new replacement for his previously damaged one, he stared into her eyes and made her restless. The room felt blazing hot, but she knew that was just his affect on her. He would not let her look away, and as he drew a short breath to speak she really had no desire to.

"I'm sorry."

She watched, incredulous, saying nothing. She was scared to interrupt so unimaginable a happening, hoping for him to go on, to tell her all the things she hopelessly longed for him to say. House, however, had few words left in him.

"I love you." His voice was soft, but strong. He placed his hands on either side of her face, cupping her chin with as tender a touch as she had ever experienced. Her knees buckled, her legs suddenly weak, her breath stolen away. The flowers fell to the floor as her arms moved of their own volition, her hands finding his elbows. There was such poignant clarity in his eyes, an electricity in his touch that activated n her just the reaction they both knew was the right one. She kissed him, following the pull of his hands and assisting in closing the space between them by slipping her arms inside his and wrapping them around his neck. She pushed against him, her bare feet arched as she balanced on the tips of her toes to accommodate the difference in their height.

The muscles of his back were tight as Cuddy gripped his shirt, his nails biting into the cloth. His hands explored the exquisite contours of her body, down her back, around one of his favorite curves and down her leg. She lifted it with his touch, pressing her leg against his knee without subtlety. She lost herself in their passion, her focus entirely on his taste, his touch, and the movement of her body against his. For a moment she could not feel the floor beneath her feet, or hear the muffled hum of the heater as it added unnecessary warmth to the already searing contact. Already perspiring and panting, Cuddy drew a deep breath as they suddenly parted, finding herself lying on her back atop pillow sheets. The groaning of mattress springs alerted her to their change of location, though, how they had accomplished such a move in so, seemingly, short an amount of time was a mystery to her.

As House climbed onto the bed, his hands sliding up her body, freeing her skin from the cover of her pajama top, she decided she had better things to focus on than how they had gotten there. All that mattered was, in every sense of the idea, that they were there, moving in unison. Her shaking hands managed to overcome the small buttons of his shirt, freeing his chest and shoulders. While she was focused on that he did most of the rest, and by the time she slipped the silk shirt from his long arms their eyes met, the blinding fire finally subsiding and the hesitation in his eyes ringing clear.

It took her a moment to take stock of the situation, memories of their many conversations flooding back to her. Her own words echoed in her ears, meaningless now that she was looking into the face of the man she could not resist. She did not want to be separated from him, emotionally or physically. Words were useless here, as she could not even explain herself to her impatient conscience. A subtle shift of her supple legs, a permissive moan as his hands found her breasts, his lips her neck, and an enticing hand on his hip were more than enough to tell him exactly where her mind was. They were in sync, body and spirit, and he entered her knowing they both not only wanted that moment, but everything to follow. She kissed them as they moved together, the rapture of making love to him for the first time indulging their passion.

"Lisa…" he groaned, his voice thick and labored. She could only respond inarticulately, her melodious voice even more alluring as a series of moans and whimpers. His name was the only word she could pronounce, the fact pushing him further towards his limit. He pulled back, slowly. The way her body bucked under him choreographed his next move. He thrust his hips downwards, even as hers rose to meet his movement, plunging deep and hard.

His name escaped her lips once again, begging him to do what he had already decided upon. The speed of his thrusts increased, never losing their depth and ferocity. Cuddy gripped him tightly, her knuckles white, her lips now on his neck. She was biting him, the pain only more incentive for him to give her everything she needed from him, and then some.

His climax rushed over him, sooner than he would have liked, and he pressed down on top of her, his final thrust just enough to send her over the edge. He panted as her orgasm tightened her walls over his spent member, groaning in ecstasy. He wanted more, though his spent body refused him.

Only Cuddy had this effect on him. He never knew a woman he was more attracted to, in any sense of the word. She held enough power over him to get anything she wanted. It was true, no matter how he behaved in the workplace. There was barely a moment when she was not in his thoughts, and when she was near it was as if she was the only thing in the room. He could never look at her enough. He was not the kind of man who liked to let his emotions take the lead in any circumstance. He remained rational, to the point where it had more of a socially crippling affect than his leg did. Yet here he was, completely devoted to a woman who had the power to hurt him. He doubted she even knew just how much in love with her he truly was.

All he wanted to do was tell her.

He moved from on top of her, but she followed after him, her arm slipping over his heaving chest and her head resting on his shoulder. Looking down at her, he found she had her eyes closed, her breath moving passively as sleep settled over her. Smiling warmly, he let his head sink back into the cushion mattress beneath his head, using the arm she didn't have pinned to pull the blanket beneath them free and cover their smoldering, exposed bodies.

She mumbled something, inhaling deeply, and House kissed the top of her head. A wave of fatigue filtered over him, but sleep was far off yet. She tried to speak again, this time conquering their mutual exhaustion.

"Don't change."

He smiled, his eyes closed, his hand finding hers and holding it tightly. It was a wordless promise. A wave of fatigue filtered over him, and before he could wake her enough to clarify, he joined her in sleep. They would worry about everything in the morning. For now, they were content to rest in each other's arms.


End file.
